


As Red As Blood

by TheGhostInTheKitchen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Avengers - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil war didn't happen you guys, Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Just a little angst, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Team Work Makes The Dream Work, dad tony stark, everyone is together and happy for once, more au because why not, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-07-11 11:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostInTheKitchen/pseuds/TheGhostInTheKitchen
Summary: Just when Peter Parker finally thinks he's getting a hold on this whole superhero thing, he meets a starving vampire who just wants to be left alone. But, being the hero he is, Peter just has to get involved. What follows is the mess, if not somewhat fluffy, trials and errors of the newest Avenger just trying his best by making friends.And with a string of inexplicable murders across the United States, an ex who just can't take a hint, and the second rise of Hydra, what could go wrong?(Starting a second fic because I have no self-control. Not totally sure where this is going yet, but I'm having fun. Kudos and comments are super appreciated! <3)





	1. Something Dark and Liquid

As near as Peter could figure, he was finally getting used to this whole hero thing. As far as he considered, he’d already taken down at least one super-villain (a real life super-villain, with henchmen and crazy tech and everything!), who he affectionately referred to as the Vulture. Calling him Liz’s dad still just seemed too weird. It also made him feel guilty, he noticed, but tried not to. So, the Vulture it was. 

Now, he was back in Queens, testing out the updated suit Mr. Stark had left for him. He still thought about the shiny red and gold one Mr. Stark had shown him at the facility up state. Part of him kicked himself for not staying. He could have done so much there, he told himself. Be an Avenger, save the world, be more than he could ever dream of! But then that other part would always creep in, the part that reminded him of Aunt May, of Ned and school, of the normal teen life he would miss out on. And then, inevitably, he would think about how Mr. Toomes (No, the Vulture, he’s the Vulture!) had dropped half a building on him, leaving him to be crushed in the debris. 

He didn’t like thinking about that either. It made his head feel tight, his stomach tie up in knots. He tried to push the thought out of his head whenever it came up. But he would still sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, palms sweaty, with a gasp of air. Tight spaces had become too much, and he found himself freaking out when confined to any space smaller than his bathroom. 

But it was fine. It would all be fine. This is just what heroes did, right? 

After all, he told himself, Mr. Stark had carried a nuclear missile through a wormhole, stopped an evil robot from lifting an entire city in the air, and looked cool doing it. If Mr. Stark could handle it, so could Peter. It would just take some time. It would be fine. 

Peter ignored all these thoughts (no matter how hard they pressed against his mind) as he swung through the streets. The sun had set a while ago, making the city light up from seemingly every window. Cars honked below him and he wondered if he would ever bother getting a driver’s license if he could just rely on swinging everywhere. His last try driving hadn’t been so bad, never mind that Flash never did get his car back. 

He swung up and landed on top of a street light, scanning the sidewalk below. A few drunk college students noticed him and waved, snapping pictures with their phones and shouting good-naturedly. He waved back. Yup, it felt good to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man sometimes. 

He shot another web to a nearby flag pole and swung down. He should probably be heading home soon. After learning his secret, Aunt May had been very strict about checking in during his rounds. He supposed he was lucky enough to still be going on rounds. He didn’t like to think about the fight they had had about it. It seemed like there were a lot of things he didn’t like to think about. Finally, Aunt May had relented, just a little bit. There would be a strict limit on hero-ing, and only after all his homework was done. And couldn’t keep losing backpacks, too! 

Speaking of backpacks, he slipped back into the alley where he had left his (third of the month). At least he thought his was the right alley. Everything looked pretty different at night. He turned on his night vision (he had night vision, how cool was that?) and scanned the alley. Which is how he finally saw the couple leaning against the wall. 

They were pressed up against each other, heads buried close. The girl, a lot shorter than her companion (the thought of a significant age gap weirded Peter out for a second), in a hoodie and frayed jeans, had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, a hand angeling his head just right. The guy had one arm limply around her waist, the other dangling lazily.

Peter jumped back. “Oh, uh,” He stuttered. “Sorry about that, I just-” 

The girl snapped her head up and Peter froze. It took him a second to process what he was seeing in the green light of his night vision. She not only looked shocked, she looked scared. Her eyes were wide, pupils blow out covering virtually the entire iris. And what’s more, something dark and liquid dripped from her mouth. Peter looked at the boy again. His eyes were glassy, half-lidden. His mouth hung slack, his whole body drooping down. 

The girl let go of him and he immediately slumped to the floor. Peter had just enough time to yell a, “Hey!” before she ran to the back of the alley and jumped, rebounding off the side wall at least 40 feet up and then making it to the roof. 

Peter quickly checked on the boy. Up close, Peter realized he was probably more of a man than a boy. He looked like one of the drunk college students he had passed earlier. His eyes were still open, glazed over, but he was breathing. Blood oozed from two small puncture wounds at the side of his neck, right where the carotid artery would be. 

Oh, no way, Peter thought. No way. 

Peter bundled up part of the guy’s sleeve and pressed it against the bite mark (Oh, God, it was a bite mark, wasn’t it?). He followed where the girl had gone, shooting a web to pull him up to the roof. He had Karen send a message to the police to check on the guy in the alley while he scanned the roof. Where could she have…? 

There! A few buildings away, he saw a small figure jumping from one roof to another. He took off after her. She was a lot faster than he expected. She dropped into a gap between buildings and didn’t jump back up. He crouched low on the lip of the roof, looking down in the alley. A party was going on next door. People poured out of the building and crowded the alley. He couldn’t tell the difference between all the head tops. 

He jumped down, landing on a snack table. “Hey, it’s the Spider-guy!” Someone yelled. A few people cheered. Peter half-heartedly waved back. At the street entrance, someone broke out of the crowd and spirited away. Slinging another web, Peter swung over the crowd to significantly more cheers. 

He managed to land in front of the retreating figure. Her face was half shadowed by the hoodie, but he could still make out the wide, pupil-shot eyes, the smear of blood around her lips, and look of utter terror. The scared look made him pause. Peter had stopped plenty of bad guys before, so he was used to a certain look they had. It would always be surprised, sometimes shocked. He had never seen someone actually scared before. He also noticed exactly how young she look. There was no way she was any older than him. Her face was gaunt, cheek bones sticking out sharp. 

He put up his hands. “Hey, look, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Yes, you are,” She said weakly, voice breaking at the end. 

She jumped forward, throwing a punch. She moved so fast it was almost like she blurred. The only reason Peter was able to duck out of the way in time was that an alert popped up. She brought her fist back in a swing. Peter ducked down just in time for her fist to crash into the brick building. Her hand cut through it like cold butter, brick dust falling over him. In a crouch, he dove for her legs, knocking her down. 

They landed in the gutter of the street. She kicked him, his teeth clashing together, making his head rattle. She dashed into the street. “Wait!” Peter called. She jumped, landing on the roof of an oncoming car. The car swerved to the side. Peter shot a net web, covering the front of the swerving car and pulling it away from the other lane of traffic. The girl leapfrogged across the lanes of traffic, breaking out to another alley. Cars breaked fast, skitting to a halt, or swerved to miss other cars accidentally aiming for pedestrians instead. 

Peter jumped up. Karen ran a quick scan of the street, showing him where to cast and pull webs to get people out of the way and create cushions for cars. He zipped through the crashing traffic, swinging up on top of a lamp post to pull his webs taught and everything still. Breathing hard, he looked over his work. No crashes, no casualties. Sure it might be a pain to get the webs off windows, but it was better than having to get a whole new window attached to a whole new car. 

Peter started to relax a little when the cheers started. At least that made him feel a little better. He looked around again, trying to find the gaunt girl. No luck. She’d be able to escape in the chaos of the crash. 

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Peter cast a new web, swinging back home. In his mask, he had Karen send a text to Mr. Stark. 

“I think I just saw a vampire.” 

~~~~

He saw her. He saw her. What’s more, he saw her eating. He just came out of nowhere, right at the exact worst time possible. 

If her heart beat anymore, she was sure it would have been roaring in her ears. She’d finally managed to lose him, after accidentally causing a major traffic accident. But he was, like, a hero, right? Surely he could take care of it. Yeah, it would be fine. Probably. 

But he had seen her. She had been so careful for so long, and now what? Was he going to track her down? Check all the little hiding spots she had found in the middle of the day? Drag her out in the street under the clear sky and much too bright sun? 

She felt sick. Anxiety rattled every nerve, made her head swim with frustration and worry and eyes burn with tears. She was having an attack again. She couldn’t deal with that now! She had to get somewhere safe! 

Not to mention she hadn't even finished eating. The guy would have been fine, of course. She made sure to always leave them with plenty of enough blood. Sometimes it was a pain. She might have to jump from place to place, college party to college party, dank and seedy club to dive bar where men much too old invited her over to sit on their lap and buy her her first beer. She was tempted sometimes, at those later places, to just drain them dry. It’s not like they could have stopped her even if they wanted. Almost as soon as her fangs were in she would have total control. Even if they did manage to fight back, her extraordinary strength was more than enough to keep them pinned down. She had broken a few bones when she was still learning to manage her new skills. 

Her feet faltered. She collapsed in a stack of discarded and slightly soggy cardboard, her legs like jelly, as the panic attack came over her. She bit deep into her wrist, fangs slicing through the thin skin of her arm. Blood flowed from her veins to her mouth. It wouldn’t bring any comfort, any ease to her hunger, but in the moment it was all she could do not to scream and cry and rip out the throat of the next person she saw. 

She remembered what Alexi had told her about feeding. How to know how much to take from a person and how to calculate it based on their height and weight. Her mind wouldn’t be her own for as long as she fasted. He had warned her about the starvation, about the loss of control, the creature that now lived inside of her and would demand satisfaction, manipulating her body like a twisted marionette, and how she would reval in the ensuing gore. 

He had locked her in that celler after his speech, leaving her there for who knows how many days. When she finally came back to herself, she had more than enough evidence that he was right. Alexi was always right. 

No, She thought, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Not always right. 

There was a skitter, a shift in the trash. Her head snapped up. A racoon dug through the garbage, hissing when it saw her. Before the tiny animal could even finish its warning, her hand had grabbed the scruff of its neck and her fangs had torn open its belly. She drank deeply, not caring for the moment of the visera the stained her face and clothes. The racoon twitched a few times, a pathetic and desperate attempt at freedom, then went still. She kept drinking until there was nothing but a cold, dry, dead vein. 

She still felt sick, but at least now she wasn’t trembling so much she couldn’t stand. She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her face against her hoodie then throwing it away in the alley. She’d have to get a new one. It wasn’t the first she’d lost one to impossible blood stains and it wouldn’t be the last, of that she was sure. 

He saw her. He had seen her. He knew what she could do, or at least had an idea. 

Could she leave New York? She had come here in the first place because it was so busy, bursting with life at every seam. Alexi had told her that bigger cities were usually best for things like them. The normal crime rate helped hide their activity and gave them plenty of options to feed. Of course, Alexi had made his rules before the heroes came. New York was their home city, after all, with the looming Avengers Tower. 

See? Alexi wasn’t always right. 

But he probably would have known what to do now. If Alexi was here, there probably wouldn’t even be a problem. Alexi would have torn out Spider-Man’s throat as soon as he entered the alley. He would give her the corpse to dispose of. After two body’s worth of blood they would be set for week. If she drained him, she wouldn’t have to go out every night, taking bit by bit from any passer-by. 

She didn’t like thinking about him. She tried not to think about him. But he just wouldn’t leave her alone, even after everything. 

Music drifted out of a window. Not the music of a club or a raging party, but just someone unwinding at the end of a long day. It was something soulful, bluegrass with a deep bass, something sad sounding. Something Grace would have loved. 

She didn’t like thinking about her, either, but for an entirely different reason. 

She bit her lip, fang drawing blood. She wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t go back to that night. It hadn’t even been that long ago, just about a year now, right? No, she wasn’t going to think about it. 

She wasn’t going to think about how Alexi would find newspaper articles about that night and make her read them. She wasn’t going to think about how he showed her clips from the news of sobbing parents, of her sobbing parents, begging for her to come back, or for whoever took her to please, please, please let her go. She wasn’t going to think about the article she had printed out about the event and kept in the bottom of her shoe. She wasn’t going to think about how, sometimes, during the day, she would wake up from black dreams with the echoes of screams ringing in her ears. 

She didn’t like to think about that. There were a lot of things she didn’t like to think about. 

She needed to get inside, off the street. She look through the wallet she had taken from her first victim (stop calling them that) and pulled out the cash, ditching the cards. It wasn’t a lot, people didn’t really carry a lot of cash anymore. It would be enough to get her a shower at the shelter, a new jacket at the GoodWill. 

It would be enough. It had to be enough. She would make it be enough. She had to. 

Sleep. She needed sleep. Sleep and blood, but the second would have to wait. Maybe she could sneak in to the emergency clinic the next night. They probably had donated blood, right? Whatever, she’d figure it out. And she’d figure out where to go, too. How to get away from that hero. 

But it was fine. It would all be fine. It had to be. It just had to. She would make it fine.


	2. Marching Band Bass Drum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never really know what to put here. In any case, new chapter, so yay, I suppose. Class is kicking my but and I already have super long essays, but writing here helps bring down the stress. Hope you like the chapter. Kudos and comments are appreciated as always.

Ladybug, ladybug,  
Fly away home.  
Your house in on fire,  
And you children are gone.   
All except one.   
Sweet (Y/N),  
And she hid under the frying pan.

“Wake up, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) woke with a jolt, the echoes of her nightmare still ringing in her ears. She could have sworn that he was whispering directly next to her. Goosebumps raised on her arms. 

After calming herself (it was just a dream, you’re fine, stop panicking, what’s wrong with you, it was just a dream), (Y/N) unwound herself from her hiding place. She had found the spot in a few of her first days in New York: a collection of half constructed tents and hoards used by some of the city’s homeless all bunked down in an abandoned subway station.  
She had carved out her own small corner during the day, relinquishing it to a woman who apologized if the voices in her head talked too loud and gave her bits of string she thought were pretty. The woman could recite poetry as well as the author themselves, if only her voices would stop shouting at her. 

(Y/N) puller her new jacket tighter around her as she exited the abandoned station. She had broken into a GoodWill after hours to find it. It was thicker than her old hoodie, with a soft fleece lining and dull gold buttons. She’d left a few dollars on the counter for it and spent most of the rest of the night rubbing her face against the soft wool. She couldn't remember the last time she had something so soft. 

It was a school night tonight, so she didn’t expect to see any college students coming and going from parties. She’d have to change her hunting methods. 

No, not hunting. Stop calling it hunting. These are people, you’re just hungry. 

She rubbed the heels of her hands in her eyes, trying to clear her head. That stupid song, that god-awful nursery rhyme, still reverberated around her brain. Combined with the gnawing hunger in her stomach and the fact that the pulse of everyone around her thundered like a marching band bass drum, she thought she was going to go insane. 

She moved off of the main side walk, leaning her head against the cool brick building. She tried breathing, steady and deep, but they came in choppy and strained. 

A fluttering caught her attention. On the wall next to her, there was a collection of poster haphazardly plastered. She pressed the fluttering corner of one of them down, pushing her head up to read it. It advertised a new observatory, opening that night. There was a special going on, the first 100 people could view Mars and the moon through the new telescope. (Y/N) stared at the illustration for a long time, the cartoon stars with happy faces in front of the photos of various planets set against the Milky Way. Before she could talk herself out of it, remind herself of the millions of problems with it, she ripped down the poster and started heading to the address. 

~~~~

“Wait, so did she have fangs?” Ned asked, leaning closer and lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, matching the whisper. He almost felt like they were planning a heist. “Right where the canines are.” He pulled his lips back, jutting his upper jaw out to show Ned the slightly sharp teeth. “But they were longer. I couldn’t really see much with all the-” He stopped himself. 

“With all the blood?” Ned sounded a little too excited. 

Peter gulped. “Yeah, with all the blood.” 

Ned leaned back, struck out with the latest hero story. “Vampires,” He said, bemused. He suddenly looked serious and leaned forward again. “Do you think garlic will really keep them away?” Peter shrugged. “What about a stake to the heart?” 

“I think a stake to the heart will kill most things,” Peter said taking a bite of the grainy school cafeteria mashed potatoes. “But I’m not gonna kill her.” 

Ned gave a brief laugh. “Have we been watching the same monster movies? She was gnawing on a guy’s neck.” 

“I guess,” Peter said. He pushed the potatoes around his plate. “But you should have seen the way she looked at me. She was… really afraid, Ned. She thought I…” Peter trailed off. He still remembered how she looked, those wide, terrified eyes, her hollow cheeks, the way her coat draped off her too thin shoulders. “She thought I was going to hurt her. Not like in a crime stopping way, just, like I was going to hurt her.” Peter wasn’t really sure if he was getting his point across. How did you communicate something like that? The utter helplessness in someone else's look, the cold and naked fear? “And if she really is a vampire,” He continued. “Maybe it’s, I don’t know, not her fault? Maybe someone turned her and she’s just trying to get by.” 

“I mean,” Ned started. “I guess.” 

They both were quiet for a moment in the middle of the crowded chatter of the cafeteria. What would that mean, exactly? Did the fact that she wasn’t complicit somehow lessen the crime of literally eating people? How did you even charge someone with vampirism? If Spider-man did catch her, what would happen to her? Would she get sent to the Raft? Would they lock her up in some SHIELD science base to run tests on an apparently real mythical creature? Did she have family? Was she hundreds of years old? And did this mean that there were other vampires going around and turned people all over the world? 

Peter absentmindedly ripped up a napkin while he thought about it, trying to factor in all the variables and ethics. He was supposed to be a hero, he was supposed to help people. So how could he help her? Could he even? 

Ned pulled out his school issued Chromebook. He typed into the search bar and spun it around so Peter could see the screen. “You don’t think she has anything to do with this, do you?” He asked, worried. 

Peter looked up at the Google search. “Vampire Serial Killer?” “Trail of Bloodless Bodies Create a Trail of Carnage Across the US.” “Ladybug Killer Strikes in Small Minnesota Town.” The rest of the headlines followed in the same pattern. 

“The Ladybug Killer?” Peter asked aloud, clicking on the first link. He read the article quietly. 

“Early this morning in Grand Island, NE, 48 year old veterinarian, Scott Marksfield found a body during his morning run. At first, Marksfield thought it was another jogger taking a rest on a bench. The body was positioned as sitting on a bench, water bottle in hand and head leaning back to look at the sky. Marksfield stopped at the bench to do his stretches when he noticed the puncture wounds and open eyes.   
“The victim has been identified as 19 year old Mary Quinn of Grand Island. While police are still investigating, the FBI has stepped in. They are currently considering this murder as another in a string of similar crimes that have been traveling across the US since November of last year. The FBI issued an official statement earlier this week stating that they are officially treating these crimes as those of a serial killer.   
“The Ladybug killer, as the culprit has been named by various other news outlets, has at least seven confirmed killings associated, with another twelve being considered. Victims are categorised by their odd positioning post-mortem. Victims often are made to appear to be doing mundane or normal tasks. Shelly Dukes, a 15 year old student in Cripple Creek, CO, was the first confirmed victim. She was arranged in the middle of a public park wearing a large white sun hat. Dukes sat in the same spot in the public park for more than five hours, with many park goers walking right by her, until her body was hit by a stray soccer ball and she fell over.   
“Another oddity in the Ladybug victims are the way in which they are murdered. While some victims display signs of assault and defence wounds, the cause of death is blood loss. Specifically, victims have been drained of blood pre-mortem. Investigators are currently working on the theory that the killer is using a type of mortuary tool, normally used to drain the blood of corpses to ready them for presentation. The entry wounds are always two small punctures, either in the inner wrist or neck.  
“The Ladybug Killer earned their unusually moniker by another strange addition to their killings. All confirmed victims, and many of the unconfirmed ones, are left with some form of the Ladybug, Ladybug poem eiter around them or on their person. Dukes was holding a book of Mother Goose nursery rhymes with the Ladybug poem bookmarked. Quinn had a copy of the poem rolled up in the water bottle she was holding. Another confirmed victims Naree Phillips, 17, had the poem stuffed in her mouth.   
“The killer seems to be targeting teenage girls between the ages of 15 and 19. All girls have (your hair color) hair and (your eye color) eyes and are around 5’2” to 5’10”. The FBI is issuing a warning to all young girls who might match this description.” 

The article went on, but Peter had to push it away. He was starting to feel sick. Puncture wounds? Drained blood? And what the hell was with the Ladybug poem? 

“Freaky, right?” Ned asked, cutting through Peter’s thoughts. 

“Yeah,” He answered nervously. 

“Don’t get the poem, though,” Ned said, taking back his Chromebook. He typed the title into the search bar and played an audio clip of the poem. 

“Ladybug, ladybug,  
Fly away home.  
Your house in on fire,  
And you children are gone.   
All except one.   
Sweet (Y/N),  
And she hid under the frying pan.”

“Well,” Peter said, clearing the lump out of his throat. “That’s not creepy at all.” 

“Yeah.” 

Neither of them knew what to say. Mr. Stark still hadn’t texted back, which Peter supposed he couldn’t really blame him for. How exactly do you respond to someone telling you that there were vampires in New York? Speaking of, why did all this stuff happen in New York anyway? 

“Hey, losers,” MJ cut in, sliding in to the seat next to Peter. Ned quickly snapped the Chromebook closed. “What’s got you two so down?” 

“The economy.” “Bees are dying.” They both said at the same time. 

“Same,” MJ said. “You guys still coming to the extra credit thing tonight? Ms. Charleston asked me to make a bus list.” The physics class was having an extra credit field trip to a new observatory that night. The were supposed to have a huge Imax show of the creation of stars, a walk through planetarium, and a couple of huge telescopes set up to see a couple planets. 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” Truth be told, he kind of needed that extra credit. Thanks to his hero-ing, his studying might have slipped just a little. Only a little. He didn’t get nearly what he should have on his last test and it took a big chunk out of his grade. 

“Cool,” MJ said, scribbling down both their names. “Don’t be late.” And as quick as she had come, she was gone. 

“So,” Ned said. “What are you going to do about the… you know.” 

Peter was at a loss. “I have no idea. Try not to get killed?” 

“If she is linked to the murders,” Ned suggested. “Maybe you can get SHIELD back up? Imagine Captain America punching a vampire. It sounds like something out of one of those old comics.” 

For a second Peter laughed. Then he saw the wide eyes, heard the trembling voice. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

He stabbed his fork in the now filmy potatoes. “Yeah,” He said. “Maybe.” 

~~~~

(Y/N) pulled up her hood as she entered the observatory. It was more crowded than she had expected, which was a definite down side. She saw a bright yellow bus parked outside before she came in. She almost turned away right then and there, fangs elongating, stomach twisting in knots, and blood rushing in her temples. But then the doors opened as through them she saw a vast expanse of bright light, swirling clouds of Jupiter, and a replica of the Mars Rover. Biting her tongue and clenching her fists, she blended in to the crowd of students, melting in to the shadows at the back of the dark rooms. 

She wandered around, head tilted up in admiration at the replica star scape on the ceiling. Tiny LED lights were patterned after constellations and star systems. Little signs along the walls told her what constellation was which, the history of its mythology, and how far it was from Earth. There was a game where you could control a miniature rover to collect Moon rocks. A couple big screens let visitors build their own rockets and then launch them, trying to see if they could clear the atmosphere. Most of the time they didn’t, much to the loud disappointment of the visiting students. 

She wandered over to a couple of students who were on their third try. They hit the launch and the rocket almost made it. But then the second boost fell off the bottom, making the whole spin over itself and crash. A large red “You Crashed” display popped up on the screen. They groaned. 

“Maybe try adding the boosters to the middle? That way it won’t fall off with the first ones,” She offered. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid. But she couldn’t help herself. How long had it been since she had really talked to someone? 

“Yeah, thanks!” The boy playing said. His enthusiastic response made her still heart swell with pride. They tried again, his friend with him offering more suggestions, mostly in the way of putting flames on the side which was an odd addition to an otherwise engineering-based game. 

The rocket punched through the atmosphere, the second set of boosters blasting on just in time. As the rocket established rotation around the planet, a cheer came up from the crowd of students. 

The boy making the rocket punched the air. “Yes!” He turned to her, a big smile on his face. “Thanks for that-” He cut himself off, body going tense and face freezing in a look of shock. 

(Y/N) stopped smiling and pushed her lips together, quickly brining a hand up to cover her mouth. Had her fangs been out? Had her eyes changed? She turned away, ready to zip through the crowd and out of the building. 

“Wait!” The boy grabbed the elbow of her new jacket. She jerked away, but paused and turned back to him after making double sure that her fangs were safely hidden. “Sorry,” He said, sheepishly. “I, uh, I didn’t mean…” He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand through his hair awkwardly. 

“It’s fine,” She said in a small voice, turning away. 

“The show’s starting in a minute,” He said quickly, words rushing together. “Our whole class is here, you can probably sneak in if you want.” 

Would that be a good idea? So many bodies so close together when she was so hungry? In a dark space, no one would be able to tell if she pulled someone to the back. Just taking a little, just to take the edge off…

“I’m Peter,” He said, bringing her out of ever darkening thoughts. “Hi.” 

She looked at him. There was something in the back of her mind, something that she knew or remembered that, for some reason, was relevant at this exact moment. What was it?   
“Hi,” She said. “I’m (Y/N.) When does it start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what's everyone think? Thanks for reading! (And yes, I know I changed the poem. Creative liberty and all that.)


	3. Blood Dripping Down Its Chin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay. October was not a good month. Well, except for the Halloween part, that's always amazing. Thanks for reading and hanging around this long. Here's a little interlude.

The Hydra goon tried to jump out and surprise Iron Man, which didn’t end too well for the former. With a quick blast from his hand pulsar, the wannabe neo-Nazi was thrown against the steel wall of the Hydra lab. He sunk to the floor with a low groan. Tony couldn’t find it in his heart to feel too sorry for him. 

Steve, looking through the doorway Tony had just come through, did a quick search of the rest of the room. He held up a hand. “All clear.” 

“Yes, thank you, I got that,” Tony quipped. 

He, Steve, Bucky, and Natasha checked the adjoining rooms. The Hydra lab was much smaller than the standard ones the slowly rebuilding SHIELD had investigated. It was buried underground, the entrance protected by a simple number key-pad in the second basement of one of some millionaire’s third get-away home. It was sort of amazing, Tony thought to himself, how so many of his neighbors in Malibu had started to disappear when SHIELD started tracking down Hydra paper trails. 

The lab itself was four rooms. There was the main room where the four of them stood now. One wall was entirely made up of various monitors reading about a thousand different numbers. One door lead to a small office room, mostly occupied by filing cabinets and spare computer parts. It looked like the occupants, all of whom were now zip tied and waiting for pick up in the main entrance of the house, had been in the middle of shredding or burning documents when they arrived. Tony didn’t worry too much about that. There would be more than enough on the computers. 

The third was filled with lab equipment: scalps and microscopes, incubators and centrifuges, large canisters of CO2 and IV bags filled with scary looking liquid. The fourth, however, was hidden behind a locked set of double doors that had three extra security measures guarding it. 

Tony rapped the door with his knuckle. “Shall we see what’s behind door number one?” He asked. The other three moved into position incase anyone decided they were tough enough to come barreling out and challenge four Avengers. Tony wirelessly connected to the lab’s security, having Friday effortlessly bypass any half-baked firewall or decryption code. As the doors hissed then slowly eased open, Tony jumped back, powering up his pulsars. The only thing that greeted them was a dark hallway with a flickering light bulb at the back. Harsh fluorescent light illuminated from cells along one wall, half three-inch thick plexiglass and half undecorated concrete. 

The first two cells, that was the best word Tony could think for it, were empty. The first cell was almost empty except for a army-style cot shoved into one corner. A heavy-looking metal door on the other side with no handle for the occupant to use. The second cell was much more interesting, if not stomach churning. The cot in this cell had been ripped in half, each half flung to either side of the room with stuffing spilling in the middle. Blood was smeared across the glass and chunks of what looked raw meat lay in disconcerting piles. There were large gashes, almost resembling scratches if they weren’t so deep, etched into the floor and metal door. 

“Whoa,” Tony said, taking a step back. He turned and saw Bucky staring intently at the second room, unblinking, eyes glazed over. “You doing alright there?” He asked. 

Bucky blinked hard, looking at Tony as if he was trying to recognize a stranger’s face in a crowd. “Fine,” He eventually said, gruffly. He moved on and Tony decided not to push the issue. 

“There’s someone in this one,” Natasha said quickly, pressing a hand against the glass of the third cell. 

They crowded over. The cell mostly resembled the first one, pristine and sterile, except for the figure huddled in the fetal position in the far corner. Tony couldn’t make anything out about them except that they were wearing hospital scrubs and had long, matted hair. 

Bucky knocked hard on the glass. “Hey,” He called out. The figure didn’t move. He turned back to the others. His breathing had become shallow and there was this restrained terror in his eyes. “We need to get them out of here.” He didn’t wait for them to respond before striding purposefully back to the control room. 

“Pretty sure I’ve seen a horror movie that starts this way,” Tony muttered. 

There were a medical chart dangling from a hook next to the viewing window. Tony picked it up, his face plate sliding up so he could read better. He flipped through a few pages, raising an eyebrow at what he was reading. 

“Subject: Suspero, M.   
Age: 46  
Blood Type: Previously B-, now unclear (order more testing to clarify)” Handwritten below this was, “Does the blood mutate or change? Like cancer cells?”   
“Weight: 84 lbs. (Note: significant weight loss within the last month of treatment. Subject does not show any ill effects of losing weight so quickly. It is assumed, based on prior internal surgeries, that much of this weight loss comes from the shrinking of internal organs in the digestive tract.)   
Physical changes: Elongated canine teeth, elongated limbs, hair easily falls off but grown back rapidly, nails have started falling off, skin has lost much of its pigmentation (Note: tests reveal that much of the melanin in the skin has been destroyed), sunken eyes, iris color change  
Internal changes: See previous internal report. Subject is still not reacting to the increased dose of anesthetics. After what happened in the last exploratory surgery, we are unwilling to continue until this problem can be solved.   
Additional notes: Subject has become increasingly introverted. Subject is unwilling or unable to respond to simple conversation or stimulus. Subject does not seem to recognize previously familiar stimulus (eg. photos of family, favorite music, the offer of new surroundings, ect.). Subject seems to now rely on basic animal-like instincts. Subject only responds when given “food.”” Another handwritten note, “Do we really have to call it that, Jim?” And below that a response, “Call it what you want, it’s still creepy as hell.” 

Tony tilted the clipboard to Steve. “What do you make of this? Sounds like they were into human experimentation.” 

Steve took the notes and flicked through them, only scanning the page before going to the next. “No idea. Hopefully the SHIELD medical staff will be able to get them back on their feet.” He flicked to another page. “It almost sounds like they were starving him. ‘Depleting solid foods, moving to a liquid based diet, move to a saline IV?’ They’re calling something else food in the latest reports, but don’t say what it is.” 

“That can’t be a good sign.” Tony looked back to the second blood-smeared cell. “I really hope this isn’t connected.” 

There was a loud buzz as a red light appeared above the door in the cell. It slowly slide open to a dark back hallway. The man in the corner didn’t move. 

“Do you think he’s…?” Tony trailed off, not wanting to say it outloud. He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one to notice that the man’s shoulders weren’t moving with breath. 

“One way to find out,” Steve said, walking to another metal door at the end of the hall. With a quick slash of the edge of his shield, the handle broke off, the door swinging inward.

They entered the hall that went behind the cells, the only light spilling out from the open cell door. The two looked at each other, nodding in understanding. Tony slid his face plate back down as Steve raised his shield in front of them both, taking the lead as he eased into the cell. 

The fluorescent lights were glaring. Even behind his face plate Tony had to squint for a moment against it. How could someone stay in here 24/7? 

“Sir?” Steve asked, approaching the still balled-up figure. “Sir, we’re here to get you medical attention. Can you answer me?” A near imperceptible twitch. Steve took a step closer. “Sir? I’m going to take your pulse. Medical help is on the way.” 

Steve’s fingers had barley brushed he man’s wrist when he snap up. His mouth opened, more like unhinged as Tony would later describe, and he let out a sound that was like ten people shrieking at once, some low pitched like an adult man and some so high it was almost childlike, combined with the metal hull of the Titanic scraping against the iceberg. The man jumped up vertically, spinning mid air to land on all fours on the ceiling. He clung there like a kind of demented spider, nails puncturing through the heavy steel. He was so emaciated his face almost looked like a skull. His eyes, the pupil blowing out the entire iris and much of the whites, were sunk so far back in his head Tony wondered where his brain was supposed to be. His limbs had elongated to almost twice their normal length. 

The man, or whatever he was actually supposed to be, spit something out of his mouth that tinkled to the floor. Tony took a step back. They were teeth. He had just spit out his own teeth. Tony looked back up, spurred on by some sort of horrible morbid fascination. The thing unhinged his jaw again, dropping wide enough to swallow a basketball whole, to reveal new rows of teeth breaking through the gum line, blood dripping down its chin. A pair of elongated canines, as long as Tony’s ring finger, jutted out of his top jaw, curving inward like a snake’s fangs. 

It leap down, fingers, more like claws, aimed for Steve’s head. He brought his shield up, throwing the thing against the wall. It hit hard, dropping down bonelessly. With a sickening twist of limbs it scurried out the door on all fours, like an animal. 

Steve and Tony rushed after it, but it was already at the end of the hall entering the observation room. Tony saw Bucky at the entrance, gun raised as the thing scittered towards him. He fired two rounds at the thing. The first the ex-man dodged with a surprising surge of speed, the second hitting him in his inverted elbow joint. It didn’t seem to matter much to the creature as it only reared back on its legs and swiped at Bucky with its claw-hand. 

Bucky dodged and rolled out of the way just in time. The thing’s claw-hand ripped through the cement floor like it was cold butter. While it tried to retract its hand from the floor, Natasha surged forward, impaling a tactical knife into its throat then roundhouse kicking its head, knocking it flat. 

It stretched its head up and screamed again, spine curving in a way Tony had only seen in circus acts and The Exorcist. It was able to throw Natasha off with a whip-like swing on its arms. She landed smoothly, aiming and firing white her wrist shooters, filling the ex-man with enough tranquilizer to take down a herd of cows. 

“Anesthetic doesn't work!” Tony called out, remembering the medical report. He fired a energy pulse at it. It jumped away with the speed and grace of a jumping spider, crawling back on all fours. It caught sight of the open door leading to the first sub-basement. It hissed, backing up in its animal crawl, eyes flitting between the four of them. They started to circle around it, caging it it. It hissed again, jumping up vertically like back in the cell. It landed next to an AC grate, ripping off the covering and bending itself to fit inside. The click-click-click of its nails against the metal vent scraped against Tony’s eardrums. 

Steve yelled into his radio. “Aggressive asalant heading out through the air vents!” They rushed out, following the click-clack sound through the grates. 

Tony made it out first, flying out to the first floor where the basement air vents emptied out. He circled around, hoving in the air, hand blasters trained on every opening. There was a battering from inside the vents and gunshots from down below. A vent on Tony’s left rattled and a second later the thing launched itself from it, unfolding like a soggy napkin. Tony fired, hitting the thing only every other shot. It crawled slowly forward, nails scraping the tile, jaw dropped open, thick drool oozing from its torn gums. 

It jumped forward, all limbs extended to wrap around Tony. He fired again, hitting the thing right in the chest. It was thrown backward, crashing through the glass wall of the first floor out onto the lawn. As soon as it landed, the thing began to wail. It wasn’t like the shriek from down in the cells, more visceral and high pitched, like it was in pain. The thing writhed on the lawn, trying to curl up in a ball and swatting at the air with its extended arms. 

Steve, Bucky, Natasha, and a few of the SHIELD agents from down below came up, watching in a mix of helplessness, fascination, and horror as it wailed. Its pale skin began to gray then crack with jagged black lines. It seemed to collapse from the inside. With one last despract bat at the sky, as if it was trying to bring the sun down, it fell still. After a second, the body crumpled in on itself, disintegrating like the last log on a campfire. The only discernible thing left was the pair of long fangs, extending from what was once a head. 

Before Tony could entirely process what had just happened, a text notification from Peter appeared at the side of his view screen. He enlarged it, breath catching in his throat.   
“I think I might know what that was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that on that, I guess. Sorry if it's short. Like I said, October wasn't a good month. The plus side is that I can always tell when I'm coming out of my depression when I start writing again.   
> Super thanks to everyone who leaves kudos and comments. I really appreciate you guys.   
> Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Too Dark Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks to everyone who sent messages after my last post. Your support meant a lot. I'm doing much better now, and it's partly due to your encouragement. <3  
> Second, it's winter break for me, so my goal is to start churning out more chapters before the second semester starts.   
> I hope you all have a wonderful New Year and holiday season. Thank you again for reading! 
> 
>  
> 
> (Is it clear yet that I never know what to put here?)

Peter wasn’t watching the observatory show. His class and other visitors had crowded into the theater under a domed projection roof. All the seats leaned back, letting visitors watch in awe at the star scattered sky projecting on the ceiling. The show zoomed them across planets and connected constellation, making them move to reenact ancient myths. There was even a section trying to explain the Bifrost and its connection to interstellar travel in Asgard. And Peter wasn’t paying attention to any of it. 

The girl - the vampire, Peter reminded himself - leaned back in her chair, fixated on the show, unconsciously smiling. Peter squinted in the dark, trying to make out fangs or bite marks on her neck, but the collar of her jacket was pulled up tightly under her chin. 

The lights flipped back on, making Peter blink hard at the temporary blindness. People clapped politely for the end of the show, the attendant reminding people to calmly exit the theater. By the time Peter blinked away the unfocused blurs of a sudden change of light, she was already halfway to the exit. 

“(Y/N)!” He shouted. He saw her briefly turn around, but was distracted from waving to her when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it out of habit, pressing the home button to display a new text. 

His heart jumped in his throat as he read the message from Mr. Stark. ‘Keep an eye on your Dracula, but stay away from it. There might be a Hydra link.’ Peter snapped his head back up, desperately searching through the crowd pushing their way through the bottleneck exit doors. His phone buzzed again. ‘Just for once, listen to me this time, alright?’

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter muttered to himself. “Again.” 

Peter shoved his way through the crowd, handing out “Sorry”s and “Excuse me”s like Halloween candy. He all but fell out into the cool air outside the observatory. His school bus pulled up to the curb, one of the teachers opening the doors and waving students over to load up. He sent a text to Ned, ‘Tell them Aunt M got me. Following vamp.’ before ducking out of sight from the car headlights. He swung his backpack around, pulling out his Spiderman suit as his phone buzzed again. A text from Ned. ‘At least get some garlic!’ followed by a steak emoji. 

Now, where would she have gone? She would want to stay in the dark, right? Away from people? But if she wanted to avoid people so much, why come to the opening night of a crowded observatory? Peter ran a heat signature scan around him. People, the engines of cars, and animals all came up in shades of orange, yellow, and red, but he couldn’t make anyone out specifically. Not a lot of help there. But… There, down the street - how had she already gotten so far? - a human shaped space colder than the air around it. Her silhouette was an amorphous blob of blues and purples.

Taking a deep breath, Peter flicked on night mode for his suit, a new addition Mr. Stark had added when he gave back the suit after the Vulture debacle. The red and blue melted into a mat black that shifted pigmint slightly to blend in with the shadows around him. 

And, trying to remember every monster movie he had ever seen, Peter set off to do the thing that heroes did. 

 

~~~

 

For the first time in months, (Y/N) actually felt good. Maybe not great, or anywhere near what a normal day would have been before, but still good. She was still smiling, playing back the stories of constellations and trying to memorize the names of different galaxies in her head. It had made her miss school in a way she hadn't paid much attention to until now. Now that she didn’t have the chance to learn in a structured way, she missed it. 

Maybe, she thought, she could do something like that again. She could find museums and somehow get inside at night, if she was careful and clever enough. Maybe even camp out in a library. Those sometimes had basements for old documents and microfiche, right? She could teach herself about anything she wanted, become an expert in Renaissance paintings or read all of Emily Dickinson's poetry and finally understand what it means. 

But to do that, she would need to stay in control of herself. She would need to make sure that, if a hapless guard or attendent stumbled across her, she wouldn’t tear their throat out. She would need to eat. 

Which is what lead her to her current placement. (Y/N) stood opposite of a bio-medical collection and analysis building. Smaller doctor’s offices would send in samples to be tested, but it also acted as a blood donation point. Somewhere in there was a refrigerator with enough blood to even satisfy Alexi for a few months. 

She shuddered, pushing back the memories. Checking around her, she darted forward, palms slamming on the brick outside of the collection building. Digging her nails into the soft mortar between bricks, she pulled herself up the side to the roof. She flattened herself on the top of the roof, waiting and listening a few painfully slow minutes to hear for sirens or if anyone started shouting after her. 

Satisfied that it had been long enough, she army crawled over to a bubbled up sky light. Using her nails, which had grown extra thick and long - almost claw like, she didn’t like to think - she unscrewed two sides of the plexiglass just enough so she could twist herself inside. She dropped into the waiting office, immediately hugging the wall by the door so anyone peaking in wouldn’t see her. 

(Y/N) realized that there were probably cameras in every corner. She wondered what the staff would think in the morning when they came in to check the footage. Would they immediately jump to vampire? Or would they assume it was some poor junkie, high off their mind? Or some new doomsday cult? (Y/N) had to admit, after the Battle of New York a few years ago, they seemed to be popping up as fast as dandelions in summer. 

She broke the deadbolt on the door with a quick turn of the knob. Slinking out into the hall, she followed the signs to the blood refrigerator. This door had a latch locked with a sturdy padlock. It didn’t matter much, though. A good quick yank of the padlock, fueled by her supernatural strength, and the door swung open. 

Stepping inside, (Y/N) took a deep breath of the frosted air, letting it settle in her useless lungs. The blood was divided by type and whether or not it needed to be tested. Type didn’t matter to much to her. Alexi had once told her that an experienced vampire could tell the difference by taste. “Like being able to tell what region of France or Italy the grapes in a fine bottle of wine were grown,” He said. But whatever experience was needed for that, (Y/N) didn’t have it yet. She hoped she never would, but, well, when had anything she’d hoped for actually happen recently? 

(Y/N) started grabbing bags, stuffing them under her shirt and in the pockets of her jacket. One burst in her hand from holding it too tight, splattering across the floor in a poor Jackson Pollock knock-off. Cutting her losses, she licked the palm of her hand, carefully gathering the blood. 

There was a sharp intake of breath. (Y/N) ripped her fingers out of her mouth, turing back to the door. The fact that she had cornered herself raged through her mind. She’d have to fight, she might have to hurt someone, she wouldn’t be able to come back. 

Spiderman, his suit now a polymorphous black instead of the traditional red and blue, blocked the door. 

She put her hand up, the other pressing the bag of blood under her shirt closer to her stomach to keep them from slipping out. “This looks bad,” She said. 

“A little,” He said. His voice cracked. His voice cracked? “Are you okay?” 

(Y/N) laughed nervously. “Am I okay?” She repeated. “Do I look okay?” She waved her blood covered hand at the spreading puddle. 

He nodded slowly. “Look, I-” He took a step forward and she jumped back, bringing up her free arm in front of her. He put his hands up. “I-I don’t want to fight. Okay? Whatever Hydra promised you or did to you, I promise I can-” 

“Hydra?” She asked, shocked. That was probably one of the last things she was expecting to hear. Then, incredulously, “You think I’m a nazi?” The white eye parts of his mask opened wide in shock. ‘Huh, that’s kind of cute,’ She definitely didn’t think. 

He put his hands up. “No! What, I - no, definitely not!” 

“You said I was with Hydra. They’re, like, superpower nazis.” 

“I mean, I didn’t mean you were Hydra, just that I heard that... “ He stumbled, looking for the next thing to say. “Hydra didn’t make you a vampire?” 

(Y/N) swallowed hard. “No. They can do that? Is Hydra… are they even still around?” 

He spread his hands. “Kind of? Maybe? Honestly I don’t know the whole story yet, but that’s sort of what it’s sounding like.” He shrugged. “And that kind of seems what an evil nazi organization obsessed with human experimentation would do anyway, right?” 

“I mean, I guess.” They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither knowing what to say next or if a false move would cause an unwanted fight. 

Spiderman broke the tension. “I really don’t want to hurt you,” He said. “I know it must seem like that, but I just want to help.” He took a cautious step forward. She didn’t step back. “I know people who could help you. We can figure this whole thing out.” 

She rubbed her blood wet fingers together. “I don’t want to hurt people,” She said just loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve never wanted to. But if I don’t eat, I -” She cut herself off, not wanting to give that much away. 

“I get it, I do.” Another step forward. “I can’t promise things can be perfect, but they can get better, right?” Step. “People make mistakes, bad things happen. Sometimes the best choice for you might end up hurting someone.” Step. “But we can make things better. We can make it so you don’t have to hurt people, or steal, or anything.” Step. He was right in front of her now, so close she could reach out and touch him. He offered up his hand. “I just need you to trust me for a little while, okay?” When she didn’t move he said, “I’m with you. I promise.” 

She looked up at him, trying to find some sort of emotion or tell in his faceless mask. “Why? Why are you even giving me a chance?” 

“Because that’s what heroes do. We need to make people better. We need to believe they can be better. We need to be better. Or else where would heroes come from?” 

With stuttering fingers, she lifted her hand to his. Just as their fingertips touched, Shield agents clustered at the opening of the vault, assault rifles pointed up and ready to fire.   
(Y/N) grabbed Spiderman’s shoulder pushing him flat on the ground and dropping next to him, soaking in the pool of blood, while a rain of bullets zipped inches above their heads. Without stopping to think, she launched herself forward, grabbing the muzzle of one gun and using her strength to rip it from the soldiers hands. She used it like a bat, bashing the side of his head. His helmet splintered at the impact as he slumped over. In the small space, the second soldier tried to bring up his rifle. (Y/N) bit down hard on the side of the barrel, baring her teeth. The metal crunched in her mouth. She jumped up vertically, holding on to the top of the door frame and then kicking out, hitting the center of the soldier’s eye shield and sending his head whiplashing back. 

She landed in the hall just as another soldier brought up his rifle. Just as he was about to shoot, a ball of thick webbing shot from behind her, glueing the gun and the soldier’s hands to the wall. Spiderman jumped out from behind her, quickly webbing several more soldiers to incapacitate them. 

“Is this supposed to be your help?” (Y/N) asked accusingly. 

“I didn’t know about this, I swear!” 

Deciding that now probably wasn’t the best time to discuss possible betrayal, (Y/N) took off down the hall she had originally come from, shouting, “Come on!” over her shoulder. They ended up back in the room she came in, the sounds of Shield guards close behind them. Spiderman slammed the door closed, webbing up the sides to buy them some time. Jumping up, (Y/N) wedged herself back through the opening in the skylight, ripping off the rest of the plexiglass bubble and reaching down. Spiderman jumped up, catching her hand and the edge of the hole to lift himself out. As soon as they were on the roof, a helicopter beam seared down, blinding them. The bright light especially hurt (Y/N)’s more sensitive eyes. 

While distracted with the helicopter, a flash of blue-white energy shot out, hitting (Y/N) squarely in the center of her back, knocking her forward to her knees. Peter whipped around to see Tony landing on the roof. His face shield slid up. “Kid!” He looked horrified, staring at Peter with an open mouth. 

Peter looked down. The whole front of his suit was smothered in blood. “Oh, no, Mr. Stark, it’s not - She’s not dangerous, I swear!” 

(Y/N) launched herself at Tony’s back. He whipped around, catching her by the neck and continuing his momentum to slam her back onto the roof. Her head bounced sickeningly. Blood from the dropped bags in the refrigerator stained her hands, coated her front, and matted her hair. Her eyes fluttered briefly, the irises flashing an amber gold, before she went limp. 

Almost immediately, a stretcher descended from the helicopter. Three agents lifted her without much grace, strapping her into the stretcher. One of them went to feel for a pulse, but only shook his head. The others nodded, another one quickly filling a syringe with too dark blood taken from the soft spot on the inside of her elbow. The third kept his rifle pointed firmly two inches away from her temple at all times. Peter didn’t fail to notice the extra hand cuffs, the shock collar, or the muzzle they put on her either. 

“Wait!” Peter tried to cut in. Tony put a hand on his chest and pushed him backward away from the fray. “Mr. Stark, please, you need to listen-” 

“Are you okay?” Tony cut him off. Tony kneeled down in front of Peter, twisting him this way and that, raising and lowering his arms and checking his neck. “Did she bite you? Do you feel sore anywhere? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Peter swatted away his hand that was frantically waving three fingers in front of his face. “I’m fine! She didn’t do anything!” Peter looked down at the sticky blood oozing its way through his suit, congealing in the cool night air. Peter lifted up his mask so he could talk to Tony directly. “This isn’t my blood!” 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Tony stood, pacing away and running a hand through his hair, tugging. It was a habit Peter had noticed the inventor taking up quite frequently, almost every time the two of them talked, in fact. 

Behind him, the stretcher was hoisted back up to the helicopter. Peter tried to shoot a web at the helicopter, ready to swing up to it, but Tony caught and ripped the web down midair. “Are you crazy?” He chided. “What am I saying? Of course he is, look where we are.” ‘That’s why I like him so much,’ Is what Tony didn’t say, but thought and then tried to forget. 

“Mr. Stark, she’s not with Hydra!” Peter insisted. “She told me!” 

“And you just believe her? People lie, kid, a lot.” 

“She doesn't want to hurt anyone,” He insisted. Tony cast a look at Peter’s blood stained suit again. “No, this isn’t, she was trying to take the donated blood so she wouldn’t have to hurt someone to get it!”

Tony sighed, tugging his hair. “Kid-” 

“She was scared!” Peter interjected. “You don’t know what I saw, Mr. Stark. The first time we met and I chased her, she was terrified. Not that she was going to get caught or in trouble or anything. She thought I was going to hurt her. That something horrible was going to happen to her.” Tony met his gaze with a hard look. Peter continued, “Her name is (Y/N). She’s not involved with Hydra, she didn’t even know they were still around. Whatever Hydra is doing, she’s not a part of it, which means someone did this to her! Some other vampire must have come around and turned her. She’s my age and she lost everything to get turned into some monster. She doesn't know what to do, Mr. Stark! I promised I would help her! I promised her she wouldn’t have to be so afraid anymore!” Peter took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He clenched his fists tightly to try and keep is hands from shaking. “Because that’s what heroes do, right? They help people. We help people.” 

Tony’s mouth became a hard line. He went back to his pacing, arguing with himself in phrases Peter could only half make out. “Mr. Stark?” He tried. Tony stopped, turned away. “Please.” 

Tony let out a defeated sigh. He turned back around. “You said her name was (Y/N)?” Peter nodded vigorously. “I’m not making any promises, kid,” He said. “But… I’ll keep an eye on her, okay?” 

Peter grinned wide. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” He said. “I promise, this will work out, you’ll see she’s fine and-” 

“Yeah, uh-huh, sure, isn’t it a school night?” Tony shooed him away. 

Peter smiled again, more than used to Tony’s rhythms by now. “Night, Mr. Stark!” He called, pulling his mask back down and swinging away. 

Tony sighed to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose to chase away on an oncoming headache. His face plate slid back into place. “Friday, pull up the video from the kid’s feed the other night.” Friday quickly scanned through the footage taken by the camera Tony had installed in Peter’s mask. Friday brought up the night Peter had sent his first text.   
Tony flicked through the recording, feeling only mildly motion sick at all the swinging. He came across Peter’s chase with the vampire girl, going over roofs, through parties, and into oncoming traffic. Tony felt his heart skip a beat when Peter jumped in front of the racing car. 

Maybe Steve was right. Despite the running joke among the Avengers, maybe Tony was becoming a dad. Well, if he was, Tony decided, he was going to do a much better job of it than his father had. And the first step to that, or at least one of the very early steps, was to listen to his kid. 

Tony went through the scene frame by frame until he found a clear enough picture of the girl’s face. He felt his mouth go dry. Peter was right, the girl did look terrified. Although the sympathy he felt was cut a little short thanks to the blood caked on her lips. He could just make out the tips of her fangs poking out. He thought of the man in the cell and shuttered. 

“Friday,” He said. “Search missing persons for her description and picture. Add some weight, it look like she hasn't eaten anything solid in a while. Use the name (Y/N).” 

Tony looked up, following the faint light of the retreating helicopter. “I hope you’re right, kid,” He said to himself. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These always feel like they take a long time to write, but then I go back to read them and it feels like it goes by so fast. I hope it's enough for now.   
> Thanks for reading. If you liked it please leave a kudos or comment. 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr!: https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/  
> (If tumblr still exists after this purge on December 17th...)


	5. An Unwelcome Familiar Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just saw Into the Spider Verse? Oh my gosh, it was so amazing! I want, like, twelve. I really hope each of them get their own movie. Also apparently Nick Cage was Spider Man Noir? Did not see that coming. I mean, I knew John Mulaney was Spider Ham, which was perfect, but still. Anyway, I got inspired. Hope you like this chapter, and thanks for reading!
> 
> As a PS, this whole story ended up a lot more serious than I first intended. I kind of just wanted to write some genre bend fluff at first, but I guess it just didn't want to go that way. I'm trying to fit more of that in soon, though. (cross fingers)
> 
> Happy holidays!

Two Years Ago

 

“Please, Gracie,” (Y/N) begged. She clasped her hands in front of her, giving the best puppy eyes she could manage. Grace was halfway out the backdoor of the kitchen, rolling her eyes at her little sister. Her friends were waiting for her in their car out on the street. The driver, Grace’s friend Tyler, honked. Her best friend Daisy rolled down the window and shouted for her to “Hurry up, already!” 

“Please, Gracie,” (Y/N) begged again. “I promise, you won’t even know I’m there!” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Grace said, softly punching (Y/N)’s shoulder good naturedly. “I don’t even want to think about what kind of trouble you’d get into.” 

(Y/N) grinned. “Nothing, I promise! Come on, I want to see what a real high school party is like.” 

“Yeah, again, don’t want to think of the trouble.” 

The two of them laughed together, thinking of the old 80’s high school comedy movies they had found at the dollar store last month. The sisters, three years apart by age but closer than twins, had spent the following weekends making their way through each and every one of them, making extensive commentary on the patriarchal evidence and rampant misogyny of the plot lines and characters, pointing out the ridiculous plot holes, and casting modern remakes, changing the story to accommodate a world where cellphones and the internet could easily fix most problems. 

Grace pressed her lips into a hard line. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, although she still didn’t entirely know what she was going to say, a loud thump came from the other room. Through the kitchen door, the sisters could make out their parent’s shouting. The words were muffled, but they had heard the arguments enough times to guess what was being said. Voices raised from both ends, slamming doors, a fist pounding on a wall. It never turned violent, at least as far as Grace knew. 

But the constant screaming, the accusations, the stress, the anger, it bled down to infect the entire household. Although their parents tried to keep the two out of the fights and pretend everything was fine when they were together, Grace had started to notice how (Y/N) would flinch at every noise louder than normal speaking volume. Whenever anyone would argue with her, even over something as simple as where to meet for study hall, she would fold like a poorly constructed house of cards. She’d become quiet in these last few months, letting her opinions or discomforts be easily rolled over in favor of keeping the peace, even when a small difference of opinion wouldn’t change anything at all, just offer another voice in a conversation. 

“Please.” Grace looked down at her little sister. (Y/N) was much quieter now, her eyes dropped to the kitchen tile floor. Had she always had those dark circles under her eyes? (Y/N) scratched absentmindedly at her arm, another habit she had picked up recently. The skin was red and irritated. (Y/N) had been wearing her sleeves lower than normal recently. And there was something caked under her nails…

Grace felt a surge of panic shoot up her spine, as if she had just shoved a metal fork inside an electrical socket. In one smooth motion she surged forward and wrapped (Y/N) in the tightest hug she could manage, burying her face in her hair. Without a word, Grace maneuvered (Y/N) out the kitchen door. She took her hand and practically sprinted to the car. 

“Hey, guys,” She said breathlessly. “(Y/N)’s coming with.” 

 

Present

 

She came around in bits and pieces. First there were sounds, low speaking voices, the beeping of medical equipment. Then an awful sterile smell, strong bleach meant to burn through anything it came into contact with. Her sight came slower, a mass of images and colors that would then surrender themselves back to darkness. 

When she finally awoke completely, her head thrummed with pain. The bright white lights searing down didn’t help either. She groaned as her mind tried to take account of her body. It was so bright, but she wasn’t burning. Was this daylight? She’d been in a fight, hadn't she? Something about stars and salvation and blood and betrayal… 

She tried to push herself up but her arms wouldn’t respond. Blinking hard, she looked down at herself. Slowly, the room came into focus. It was a small cell, just big enough for her to lay down or stand up in. A board jutted out from one side of the wall, some sort of bed, even though she was laying flat on her back on the ground. The walls and ceiling were an unnatural white. 

She tried to move again. It wasn’t that her limbs weren’t responding, it was that she was incapable of performing the action. Slowly, she came to the dawning horror that she was restrained in some sort of straight jacket. She tried to open her mouth but found her jaw firmly closed shut thanks to a metal and leather muzzle enclosing the lower part of her head. 

Panicking, she tried to flail her arms out. She pulled as hard as she could against the restraints. She felt dizzy, an unwelcome familiar feeling coiling at the base of her brain, behind her eyes, and in the depths of her belly. She hadn't eaten, and who knew how long she had been out? How long had it been since she had fed? 

Putting all of her power into one more motion, she jerked her right arm back, tearing the buckles and cloth of the jacket. She slammed her hand onto the wall in front of her, dry heaving as the collecting nausea combined with a growing anxiety of possibilities that she was all to familiar with swarmed her thoughts. She looked up. Her hand was already paler, the veins, once a light blue with moving blood, now stood out dark like charcoal lines. The wall she was bracing herself against wasn’t completely a wall like the others. It was clear, made of some sort of bullet proof glass, she guess. Looking out, she saw a large round room with layers upon layers of cells like her own built up past her view like a cake. Some of the cells were occupied. Adult men, mostly, in white jumpsuits. She looked down at herself. Past the ripped jacket, she saw she was wearing similar clothing. Someone had changed her while she was unconscious. She dry heaved again. And they had taken her shoes. Oh, god, her shoes. The news article. It was gone. It was all gone. 

Memories started to filter back. The observatory, the blood testing site, Spiderman, the Shield agents, the fight on the roof, her head bouncing against the hard concrete. They’d taken her. They’d arrested her. How much did they know about her? How much of what she had done, intentionally or not, did they know? The Spiderman had said something about Hydra, did they think she was involved in that too? 

It was bright, too bright. The slight buzzing from the lights that took up the entirety of the ceiling of her cell swelled into a cacophony. Yelling, in a voice that wasn’t entirely hers, she ripped her other arm back, shredding the jacket with her nails. She launched herself to the top of the cell, Slashing through the plastic covering of the lights. The shock of electricity zinged through her arms and she welcomed it. Any feeling to instigate her nerves, any sensation to distract herself from that hunger. With bleeding and tingling fingers, she dug into the sides of her face, retching the muzzle off an away from her. 

The same hunger she’d felt when Alexi had locked her in that storm cellar after she had foolishly fought with him about feeding. The same hunger that slowly took over her until she started blacking out down there, waking up with the corpses of rats clutched in her hands. The same hunger that finally dissipated as she regained consciousness after being trapped down there for far too long, smeared in blood, licking the congealed mess off the dirt floor, the remnants of two unknown bodies lying still. 

She never found out who they were or what she did while locked up. She never asked. Alexi had let her out of the cellar, welcoming her back with open arms. He told her it was a lesson she needed to learn, that they all learned eventually. That the hunger wasn’t something she could debate with. It was another monster entirely, one that could easily take control of her if she didn’t learn to manage it. The cellar was just a necessary evil, a fitting lesson for a disobedient child. And he would help her with that, wouldn’t he? Hadn't he been good to her? Didn’t she know there was no one else in the world who would accept her like he did? 

In the dark of her cell, (Y/N) screamed. 

~~~

The Raft surfaced slowly as Tony landed the quinjet. It has been four days since Shield had taken (Y/N) into custody, although she’d just been moved to the Raft recently. 

According to the information he had been able to dig up (Shield really needed to update their cyber security… Again) they’d previously held her at some other location, running tests to compare her biology against the records found at the hidden Hydra lab. 

The jet landed, an airlock closing overhead as the prison slowly descended back into the ocean. A Shield escort led him through the compound, passing about a dozen different security checks along the way. 

“She hasn't responded to interrogation so far, sir,” The escort told him. “But we’ve been holding off since you asked to speak to her first.” The guard stop at another locked door with a keypad and card scanner. He flashed his id and typed in a quick set of numbers. “Right through here, sir. It’s the, uh, dark cell on the left.” 

Tony pulled out his tablet to bring up the information on (Y/N) he’d collected from the Shield archives. “You turned her lights off? Considerate.” 

The guard flinched but tried to hide it. “No, sir. She broke the lights.” The doors slid open, the guard saluted, and Tony stepped inside. 

He spotted the cell immediately, a dark hole in an otherwise prestinly white expanse. A few of the other prisoners peered out at the new development, but quickly lost interest. Tony gulped, swallowing his nerves and putting on his normal bravado. He marched across the room over to the dark cell. (Y/N) had tucked herself into a far corner, huddled with her back facing him. He had a flashback to the hidden Hydra lab, the emaciated man. The reports there had said that the man hadn't “eaten” in awhile. That meant he hadn't had blood, right? Were they “feeding” her here? If she didn’t eat often enough, would she turn out like him? 

Tony stood straight, fiddling with the switch on his watch that would turn it into an energy pulsar. He took a step closer and rapped a knuckle on the glass wall. “Good evening,” He said, in his best Bela Lugosi Dracula impression. “Or,” He switched back. “Morning, I guess. It’s hard to tell time down here, isn’t it?” 

She didn’t respond, didn’t flinch, didn’t move. ‘Come on, kid,” He thought. ‘At least let me see your face. At least let me know you’re still yourself.’ 

“Okay, fine,” He continued, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Maybe that was a little in poor taste.” 

“You gave me a concussion,” She said. 

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was still able to talk normally. He paused. “I did?” 

She turned her head a little to look back at him. Tony noticed an amber orange flash in her eyes. “You threw me head first into concrete. You gave me a concussion.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I did do that. Sorry.” 

She turned back. 

“To be fair,” He went on. “It didn’t really look good, did it? I thought you had, you know, attacked Spiderman. I have a bit of a soft spot for him.”

“Is he alright?” She asked quietly. 

“Had to send the suit to get dry cleaned, but I think he’ll live.” 

She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

Tony let out a breath. “Yeah, he told me that. He stood up for you, you know. Convinced me to come here. He thought you might be able to help us with our problem.” 

“I don’t know anything about Hydra,” She cut in. 

“Oh. Well. Would you like to?” She turned her head again, that amber flash. He held up the tablet. “We raided a secret Hydra lab a week ago. There were people being held there, people who bear an uncanny resemblance to your altered genetics.” He played the security footage from the lab, the man breaking out of his cell, attacking the four of them, crawling out through the vents, and finally evaporating in the sun. 

(Y/N) turned completely around at the sound of his inhuman scream. Tony watched, trying to keep any emotion from his face, as she crawled to the glass wall, eyes fixed on the tablet. Her eyes were an unnatural bright whiskey color, almost like they created their own light. Her fingers were long, ending in sharp looking talons. Her joints shifted in strange ways, almost like they were detaching from their sockets to move independently. Tony couldn’t tell if her limbs looked longer than they should have, or if it was just because she looked so painfully thin that the rest of her look distorted. She pressed her palms against the glass, leaning in close to watch the video. Her eyes were huge. The tips of snake-sharp fangs poked into her bottom lip. Tony tried not to stare, or at least not to be caught staring. 

“He’s starving,” She said, in hushed reverence, like she was at a memorial site. The video got to the part when the man was thrown outside. (Y/N) gasped and covered her mouth, recoiling, as the man writhed and screamed, falling apart like a dried sand castle. “Oh, god,” She whispered to herself. “Oh god, oh god, oh god. That’s going to happen to me. I haven’t eaten. That’s going to happen to me.” 

Tony quickly put the tablet down as tears started to spill from her eyes. She started pacing around the cell, muttering to herself, scratching a place on her wrist that already looked red and irritated. 

“Hey, hey, kid, (Y/N), listen to me, okay? I need you to calm down for a second, just look at me.” She ignored him, too caught up in her own rising panic. 

‘Food,’ Tony thought. ‘She said she hasn't eaten yet. And vampires… Oh, great.’ Peter’s words echoed in his head and he quickly hacked past the security measures keeping her cell locked. “We’re heroes, Mr. Stark. That’s why heroes do.” 

He strode in, closing the clear cell wall behind him. Almost immediately, several Shield guards rushed in, yelling at him and brandishing stun batons and guns. One tried to swipe his id card only for it to fail. He yelled for someone to get an IT person while shouting to Tony through the glass. 

Tony took (Y/N) by the shoulders, sitting her down on the board-like bed in the cell. He kneeled down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “(Y/N), (Y/N)!” He tried to get her attention. Through tear blurred eyes, she glanced up. Her mouth had opened as she gasped for useless air. Being so close, Tony could see her fangs, made longer by her unconsented fasting. “I know you’re scared,” He said in a soft voice. “I know, believe me. I’m scared too. Hell, I’ve been scared since I first put on the suit. But you know what?” He pushed the hair out of her face, bringing it up so they could look each other in the eyes. “You’re going to have something I didn’t.” 

Hiccuping, she asked, “What?” 

Tony tried to give her his standard dazzling smile, but was afraid it might come off as a grimace. “You’re going to have me. (Y/N), I promise you, I’m going to do everything I can to help you. You are never, ever, going to turn into that. You’ll never have to be afraid of where you’re going to get your next meal, or where you need to sleep in the day, or worry that Shield or Hydra or anyone is going to come take you.” 

She hiccuped again. Already, Tony could see the amber draining out of her eyes, returning to their normal (your eye color) color. “Why?” She asked. 

Tony let go of her hands, rolling up his sleeve. “Because that’s what heroes do. Now come on, you look sick.” He offered up his inner wrist to her. 

(Y/N) gasped, eyes wide, looking between his face and his offered wrist. “Mr. Stark,” She started. “I- I can’t, I-” 

“Spiderman said you can control how much you take, right?” He cut in. 

“I mean, yes, normally, but-” 

“(Y/N),” He said sternly. “I promised you, didn’t I?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” 

Nervously, (Y/N) took his arm, bringing it up to her mouth. Looking once more at him for a sign on confirmation, she bared her fangs, which extended, much to Tony’s interest and horror. She bit down on the center of the underside of his arm. Tony flinched. It felt like getting stung by two very big bees. But before he could really categorize the pain, a pleasant cool numbness traveled up and around his arm. 

‘Huh,’ Tony thought to himself. ‘Some sort of bio-anesthetic agent. I’ll have to look into that.’ 

(Y/N)’s eyes were closed as she latched onto his arm. Already, Tony could see color coming back to her cheeks. He could feel himself getting lightheaded. Black dots started appearing in his vision. ‘Maybe the others are right.’ He thought. ‘Maybe I am becoming a dad.’ 

And just before he passed out, Shield agents finally opening the door, he concluded, ‘Well, then I better do a damn good job of it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, I absolutely love the idea of Dad!Tony. He's so grumpy already with a heart of gold.  
> Anyway, please let me know what you think. Comments and kudos are always welcome. Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Hey, I have a Tumblr! Come say hi: https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/


	6. The, Uh, Fridge Is Full Of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus? What hiatus? I didn't disappear for literal months...  
> Anyway, half fluff and wish fulfillment now that I'm looking for a place to live outside of college, half actual plot stuff.   
> I'm not sure if I should add this to the tags, so I'll put a trigger warning here. The next story arc is going to be more focused on the Ladybug murders mentioned way back in chapter two. Nothing graphic, but if you get squeamish easily you might want to skip over those parts. If anyone wants, I can put in some sort of mark to block off these sections so you can just skip over them without missing too much of the plot. Just let me know!  
> BTW, sorry if one of the victims has your name. I'm honestly using a random name generator and people I didn't like in high school.   
> And, as always, thanks for reading!

“Oh, what the hell is this?” 

Tony’s words were snatched away by the roaring on helicopter blades. The two SHIELD agents roughly “helped” (Y/N) down from the helicopter to the tarmac. She still had the heavy hi-tec manticals all prisoners at the Raft wore when out of their cells, not to mention the shiny silver muzzel that swallowed up her lower face, resting heavily on her shoulders. She still had on the sterile light-blue scrubs the inmates wore too, which made her look even smaller hanging off her jutting angles. ‘Guess they didn’t make prison uniforms for children,’ Tony thought grinding his teeth. As soon as they were out from under the helicopter blades, Tony took four long strides over and brushed the agents away. 

“Sir,” One of them said. “She’s still listed as a danger. We should-”

“Yeah, and I’m Iron Man. Bug off,” Tony cut him off, quickly finding the latch on the back of her restraints and snapping them off. Honestly, SHIELD security could be a real joke. 

(Y/N) rubbed at her wrists and rolled her neck, not looking up or saying anything. Tony pressed his lips into a hard line, signing the SHIELD release papers that he didn’t bother reading. Putting a genel hand to her shoulder, Tony escorted them away before the agents were even buckled back into the helicopter. 

Neither of them said anything during the long elevator ride down to the underground garage or when Tony pulled out in his red roadster into the busy night time streets on New York City. Lights from other cars and street lamps would occasionally illuminate the inside of the car. 

“How’s your arm?” 

Tony almost jumped when she said it. She didn’t sound nearly as sick as she had back on the Raft. Her voice held steady, even if she still wouldn’t look at him. Small mercies, he guessed. “Oh, you know,” He said. “A little sore at first, but it’s fine now. See?” At a stop light, he rolled up the sleeve of his button down shirt, revealing two perfectly circular tiny scars on his inner arm.

(Y/N)’s eyes flicked up briefly. “Sorry I made you pass out.” 

Tony cracked a smile and shrugged. “Eh, I’m use to passing out. Granted, it’s usually at a party after someone breaks out brouban from before the French Revolution, but whatever, you know?” 

She let out a sound that might have been a restrained laugh. Tony decided to take that as a win. “Thank you, by the way,” She continued. “I just… I don’t think I ever thanked you before. It really helped.” 

Tony tried to look nonchalant. “That’s what heroes do, kid.” 

This time she really did laugh. “Being a hero sounds exhausting.” 

Tony exaggerated rolling his eyes. “You have no idea. The press, the fans, the the action figures, the complete adoration. I mean, my life was like that before, too, but now I can fly. Oh, hey, that reminds me.” Tony popped open the middle console of the car, fishing around while trying to keep his eyes on traffic. He pulled out a slim black Stark-brand smartphone and handed it to (Y/N). 

“Mr. Stark,” (Y/N) said, slightly awed at the brand new phone, that probably cost the same as what her parents would make in a month, in her hand. “I can’t take this! It’s way too much!” 

Tony chuckled. “You haven’t seen too much yet,” He said under his breath. Outloud, he said, “It’s fine. I own the company after all. Besides, isn’t there that stereotype of millennials and their phones? You’ve already got some messages, too.” 

(Y/N) unlocked the screen, mentally reminding herself to set a password later. Not that she had any doubt that either Tony or SHIELD could open it without even breaking a sweat, but it was the principal of the thing. Sure enough, she had a litany of text messages from an unsaved number lighting up the messenger icon. She tapped it and scrolled back to the top, smiling as she read them. 

Unsaved Number: Hey!  
Unsaved Number: Welcome back to New York!   
Unsaved Number: You are back, right? Mr. Stark said he was going to help you get out of prison, so I figured you’d be back in NY.   
Unsaved Number: I mean, I guess it’s not really a prison? Is it?   
Unsaved Number: Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about that.   
Unsaved Number: Anyway, how are you feeling? Like, from before? Are you eating okay?  
Unsaved Number: You probably don’t want to talk about that either.   
Unsaved Number: That SHIELD ambush totally wasn’t my fault by the way! Just thought I’d say that again.   
Unsaved Number: You know, in case you didn’t believe me the first time.   
Unsaved Number: Although, I guess you probably wouldn’t believe me this time either.   
Unsaved Number: Hey, if you are in New York, let me know! We can hang out sometime or something.   
Unsaved Number: Can you do that on probation?   
Unsaved Number: Right. Sorry.   
Unsaved Number: This is Peter, by the way.   
Unsaved Number: Parker.   
Unsaved Number: Spider-Man. 

(Y/N) looked over at Tony. “Does he always text like this?”

“Pretty much.” 

You saved his number under Peter, By The Way, and responded. 

You: Hi. I’m back.   
You: Don’t know what’s happening now, but I think I’m okay.   
You: I believe you.   
You: And thanks. For everything. 

You sighed and turned off the phone, leaning back in the plush leather seats. You watched the blurring lights zip by as Tony navigated the streets, full of people walking around even this late, honking car horns, and sizzling street food. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, you could make out individual scents and sounds. A couple arguing over what to paint their living room, a chef cutting up cilantro for salsa, a raccoon and her babies digging through clanging metal trash cans. 

“We’re here.” You blinked and looked up. A hatch lifted at the base of a parking garage, leading down to a secret underground lot. The car rolled in past plenty of other high tech and probably ridiculously expensive cars. You blinked at the bright florescent lights of the garage, an immediate difference from the late night outside. You paused for a moment, marveling at the different cars stored away down here. You wondered if Tony actually ever drove them or if it was just for show. Hearing the elevator doors slide open, you sprinted over to catch it as Tony hit the key for a high up floor. 

“Welcome home, Sir,” A voice said over the intercom. “And hello, Miss (Y/N).” 

You jumped. “Uh, hello? How are you?” 

“Fine, thank you.” 

“He’s an AI,” Tony said, pointing to the pinprick camera at the top of the elevator doors. “His name’s JARVIS. He pretty much runs the whole building. If you need anything, just ask him.” 

“So, like a super Alexa?” 

Tony cut off a laugh with a fake cough. “Yeah, like a super Alexa.” 

The elevator dinged again as it reached the 43rd floor. Tony dropped a small silver with a red tag into (Y/N)’s hand and motioned with his head to unlock a door at the end of the hall. The click of the locks tumblers seemed to echo down the corridor and she twisted the key and pushed open the door. 

“I, uh,” Tony started. “I don’t really know what teenage girls are into these days. I hope it’s alright for now. I left some catalogs over there that you can flip through. Just mark whatever you like and I can get it shipped in.” 

The words went right past her ears. (Y/N) marveled at the room, breathless, which, actually, was more like an upscale New York apartment. The entryway lead to a large living room with plush white carpet. All the other floors were a dark chocolate brown hardwood. The middle had a step down, leading to a sort of pit, with over-stuff couches surrounding a glass table with a small fire pit in the middle. Instead of a TV, a projector hung from the ceiling, pointing to a white screen and connected to a cable and Blu-ray setup. 

To the right was an open kitchen, all with stainless steel appliances, black marble countertops, and a white subway tile backsplash. The hall to the left had three doors. One opened to a spacious room with comfy chairs, blankets, and a fainting couch. The room was lined wall to wall with cherry wood bookshelves. 

Across the hall, the other room had an indoor rock climbing wall leading up to a tree house with a slide swirling back down. In the corner where four bunk beds, arranged in an L shape and set in their own little cubbies. A wooden boat was cut in half, the inside lined with pillows, facing a plasma screen TV connected to several different game consoles. 

The bathroom was at the end of the hall. There was a clawfoot bathtub and a walk-in shower with black riverstones on the floor and a rainshower head. The sink was made to resemble a bamboo deer scarer flowing into a green glass leaf bowl. 

On the other side of the living room was the bedroom. One wall was all light colored mismatched wood. There was a full bed with a cubby-style headboard, a desk and work area with a band new laptop set up, and a paper screen, behind which lead the entrance to the walk-in closet. There was a loft on the other side of the room, underneath which was a sort of hidden cave littered with fluffy bean bag chairs and bookcases. 

“The, uh, fridge is full of blood,” Tony said, rapping his knuckle against it. His voice cracked on the last word. (Y/N) couldn’t say she blamed him. “It’s all donated stuff, so don’t worry about that, I guess. I had this room built in the center of the tower, so there's no windows. Oh, check this out, though.” Tony jogged past the living room pit to the opposite wall like an excitable child. He slid open a hidden panel and pressed a few keys. With a flash, the sunrise lit up the entire far wall. (Y/N) screamed, throwing up her arms to protect her face. “Oh, no, no, no, shit, no, wait.” Tony rushed back over, fingertips brushing her writs, to unsure to puller her arms down. “I should have thought that through more. It’s fine, see! It’s LEDs!” 

Slowly, (Y/N) lowered her arms. Out the window, or, she guess, through the projected window, was a red, yellow, and purple sunset over a beach. Waves crashed with surfers trying to get in one last ride, the sun glittering off the distant water. (Y/N) blinked at its brightness, then blinked harder to keep away the tears building up in the corners of her eyes. 

“It’s a live camera feed,” Tony explained. He pointed to the panel in the wall next to the window. “You can change what it see here.” He slid his finger over a touchpad and the window shifted to a park path fluttering with pink cherry blossoms. Another swipe lead to a night time view of the Eiffel Tower pulsing with different colored lights. Finally, the window settled on a street view of New York City with the Statue of Liberty a tall silhouette in the background. Out from the corner of the window’s view, Spider-Man swung front and center. Oblivious to the secret eyes, he let go of his web, flipped in mid air, then shot another web to follow through down the street. 

“Show off,” Tony murmured to himself, but (Y/N) could hear the pride in his voice. 

“Mr. Stark,” she began. “This… this is all… It’s amazing! I couldn’t even dream of stuff like this!” Tony’s chest puffed with pride... “Mr. Stark, I can’t accept this.” … And then deflated again. 

“Of course you can, kid.” 

“No, I-” She cut herself off, trying to find the right words. “I don’t deserve it.” 

Tony put a hand on her shoulder and knelt down, trying his best to sound authoritative and kind. “People who deserve a lot less have a lot more. Look, (Y/N), you’re in a bad spot, I’m not gonna lie, and I’m not going to pretend I know everything about what you’ve been through. But you’re not the only person who’s suffered.” He tapped his chest where (Y/N) could see the faint glow of the arc reactor under his shirt. “Things get worse before they get better, but they do get better. And accepting help doesn’t mean you’ve never done anything wrong. It means you’re willing to get better. So let me help, alright?” 

(Y/N) pulled her shoulders back and gave a firm nod, not completely trusting her voice. 

Tony stood back up, hands on his hips, and smiled. “Great! Now, uh, for the not so fun part.” He walked over to the kitchen and lifted up a manila envelope that was resting on the counter. The SHIELD logo was embossed on the front. “This is all we were able to gather from the secret lab in Malibu on those vampire experiments. A SHIELD team is looking into the science part of it, but we have no way on knowing what Hydra was aiming for. Part of the agreement for keeping you off the Raft is your cooperation in investigating this case.” He put the envelope back down. “If Hydra has succeeded with this, we’re going to need to know what we’re going up against. Understand?” 

(Y/N) looked at the envelope, remembering the video Tony had showed her when she was stuck in her cell, half starved with too much light around her. “I understand,” she said. “I’ll do whatever I can.” 

“‘Course you will, kid. But don’t worry about it tonight, okay? Take a break, watch some TV, whatever kids do. Oh, but no social media. That’s part of the SHIELD thing too.” 

Saying goodnight, and assuring Tony that, yes, she really was alright and, no, she didn’t need anything right now, (Y/N) collapsed on a couch. She heard the front door locking several times, heavy deadbolts she was sure were meant to keep her contained. She looked up and scanned the seams of the ceiling. She was sure there were cameras hidden somewhere in the apartment. SHIELD didn’t seem like the kind of conglomerate that left their investments unsupervised. She at least hoped they left her bedroom unbugged… 

Anticipating a long night ahead of her, (Y/N) reached over and picked up the remote for the mounted TV. She started flipping through channels, late night talk shows, live comedy specials, preschool cartoons for some reason, some CW teen supernatural romance show filled to bursting with melodrama yet surprisingly addicting. 

(Y/N) was about to call it quits and explore what else the apartment had to offer when she clicked passed a news station. She wouldn’t even have bothered with it if not for the picture to the right of the broadcasters head highlighting the story. She quickly flipped back, throwing herself to the nearest couch in the pit to the TV and staring up at it, as if closer scrutiny could reveal some falsehood in the report. 

“- marking yet another victim in the Ladybug Murders. An FBI squad has been officially assigned the case. Detectives say that the killer is going more bold with his abductions and placements of the bodies. The last three most recent victims, Sarah Stevenson, Kenna Lee Carlson, and Tamara Chambers, were all taking while in crowded and public areas with multiple witnesses. 

“Sarah and Tamara, unlike most of the other Ladybug murders, were also found extremely quickly the same night as their abduction. Sarah was seated at the bar of a local restaurant her and her family were eating dinner in. When the bartender asked to see her identification, he noticed she wasn’t breathing. When asking if she was alright, the body fell over. Sarah had only been gone from her table for fifteen minutes. In that time, she had been killed, had her blood drained, and then propped at the bar. The FBI team are currently in possession of the restaurant security tape footage and will release any vital information as it becomes known. The titular Ladybug poem was hidden in Sarah’s shoe. 

“Tamara also showed a deviation from the norm. While in a public park for a local concert, friends reported that Tamara was waiting in line at a food truck. Another girl waiting with her recalled that Tamara’s name had been called to pick up her food. The witness looked down at her phone and then back up, noting that Tamara had vanished. Half an hour later, friends of Tamara reported her missing to the concert security team. She was found forty minutes later, sitting inside the driver’s seat of a muscle car also in the park for a car show exhibition. The owner of the car doesn't recall Tamara or anyone else entering the car, as he kept it locked and had the keys on his person, but stated that many people were walking around the exhibition all night. The poem was found in her hair under a hair clip. 

“Although the Ladybug Killer attacks are apparently random, it is worth noticing that the killings have taken on a trend to the north east. The attacks and abductions have also been limited to only being at night. Girls, especially between the ages of fourteen and nineteen, with (hair color) hair and (eye color) eyes, are advised to stay indoors during the night and the hours of sunrise and sunset. For more information on how you can stay safe in this crisis, please visit our news website for-” 

The broadcaster was cut off. She looked off to the side as someone wearing a wire headset ducked on screen and handed her a sheet of paper. They whispered something to her and then rushed back out. 

“This just in on the Ladybug Murders case: The latest victim, seventeen year old Renee Phillips, was previously stated to not have a copy of the Ladybug poem in her possession. With further inspection, investigators have found an audio recording on Renee’s phone. It is believed that the voice you are about to hear is that of the Ladybug Killer. We will now play the recording in full. Viewer discretion is advised.” 

The screen cut to black with a wavy white line in the center. It grew and shrunk with the voice’s vibrations. The recording started off quiet. The only sound was the crunching of leaves underfoot, someone just taking a leisurely stroll through the woods. An owl hooted. There was a grunt, then the sound of movement writhing in the leaves. The grunt quickly became a shriek, muted and cut off by a gag. The footsteps stopped. They let the voice, Renee, struggle, trying to call out despite her bindings. The walking started up again, and it became evident that whoever was walking was making a circle around Renee, circling like a vulture. They were also the one’s holding the phone, recording for their own sake. 

And then they started singing. It was barely there; a male voice could have been caught in the wind if they tried hard enough. But (Y/N) could hear it. She could always hear it. It was carved into her mind with a with a butcher’s knife, burned to her eardrums with a hot iron rod, implanted in her memory like a deadly virus. 

“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home.   
Your house is on fire,  
And your children are gone,  
All except one.   
Sweet (Y/N),  
And she hid under the frying pan.” 

(Y/N) rushed to the sink and threw up. She gagged on her own frantic breathes. Back on the TV, the recording still played. There was one more frantic scream from the muffled girl and then everything went quiet. The owl screech. After a stretch of painful silence, only undercut by the chirping crickets in the background, there was a deep intake of breath that was slow released. Something heavy was dropped to the ground. 

The next sound sent (Y/N) to her knees, curled in a ball. She flung open one of the cabinets and crawled inside in some half ditch effort to escape. A part of her told her that she should get back up, go to the living room and just turn off the TV and then the noise would be gone. But she couldn’t. If she looked up, back to the wavy audio recording visual, he would find her, he would see her somehow, she just knew he would. She couldn’t face him, not even this way. 

The person recording started to laugh. At first it was just under his breath, someone remembering a joke they heard a while ago. Then it built and built into a crescendo, head thrown back all inhibitions let loose. The recording cut out in the middle as the laughter turned into an insane scream of pleasure. 

The broadcaster came back on screen, her voice shaking. “If, um, if you have any information that might be helpful to police or investigators, please call the number at the bottom of the screen.” 

The broadcast went on, but (Y/N) wasn’t listening anymore. Her ears rung with high pitched bells that weren’t there. Her whole body shook like a leaf, tense to the point of breaking. How had she not heard about this before? How long had these murders been going on? Four, at least four, girls dead. Girls that looked like her. And she knew why. She knew exactly why.

Alexi was looking for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah! This is happening.   
> If anyone is interested, I'm using the tune for the Ladybug song Nancy Drew: Ghost of Thornton Hall. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pL4u2_Lrr-M  
> I don't know if there's another variation of this song, but this is the one I'm basing it on.   
> Let me know what you think! As always, I love comments and kudos. 
> 
> Hey, I'm on Tumblr! Come say hi!  
> https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/


	7. A Flutter of Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just graduated from college?!?! Woo-Hoo! I'm having a short summer break before starting my new job (wish me luck) and I'm going to be moving in a couple of days, so I'm hoping to get some extra time in between the packing and driving.  
> Anyway, I wanted to take a break from the main plot a little. I think I'm going to be planning of letting the characters get to know each other a little bit more.  
> I have everything mapped out in my head, you know? Like, I know what I want to happen, but I'm not sure how to get there yet.  
> It's hard work, but it's work I love.  
> Thank you to everyone who is reading. Please let me know what you think or you have any suggestions.  
> XOXO

Two years ago 

The party had commandeered a barn out on an abandoned farm lot. There was a crumbling farm house out on the edge of the field, windows busted in from decades of neglect, door taped up with ignored restriction tape, looking all in all like the perfect setup for a slasher movie. All it was missing was a group of teenagers throwing an ill-advised party. And, across the stamped down, dry, dead corn stalks in the peeling red barn, the formula was satisfied. 

There was a strong, chill wind that night, so most of the party goers, the senior class of Mont Blanc High School, stayed inside the barn. A few brave souls milled around just outside the open doors, smoking. If someone had asked around, no one could really tell who had organized the party. They had heard about it from a friend of a friend, who had told someone else, and then it was all, “Are you coming to the senior party?” “You’re going to that party at the old barn, right?” “I wouldn’t miss the party for anything!” “Anyone who’s anyone is going to be there.” 

It wouldn’t be until much later, when investigators were zipping closed body bags, that the ambiguity of the party’s origins lead to conspiracy that this wasn’t a random attack. It had been organized, planned, the culprit watching their trap fill to bursting from the shattered windows of the farm house. But, of course, that was just a theory. 

The car rolled up, parking in a haphazard lot with the others (no one would notice the slashed tires and break lines until the police arrived). Grace and her friends jumped out. Grace stretched her arms up, taking in a deep breath of frosty air as her friends jogged to the barn to get out of the chill. 

“Hey, Grace?” Grace turned around. (Y/N) was still huddled in the back seat, gazing out the window and the dead fields. “Sorry, just, you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Grace said. “There are some seniors who have junior dates, so you won’t be the only one.” 

(Y/N) looked up and smiled. “I’m not a junior, either, Gracey.” 

Grace lightly punched her arm. “You know what I mean. Come on. It’s about time we get out of the house, anyway.” 

(Y/N) pressed her lips together as they headed in. “Do you think…?” 

“What?” 

“Never mind. It’s stupid.” 

Grace put a hand on her little sister’s shoulder, stopping them just in front of the barn doors. “Hey, if it’s bothering you then it’s not stupid. What’s up?” 

(Y/N) started scratching at that raw spot on her wrist. “Do you think Mom and Dad are going to get divorced?” 

Grace blinked. She should have been prepared for something like this, but the question still had her real back. “I - I don’t know. Because of the fighting?” (Y/N) nodded. Grace sighed and pulled her little sister to the side of the barn, glaring pointedly at a smoking emo kid until he let out an annoyed puff and wandered away. 

“(Y/N), listen,” She began, taking (Y/N)’s hands in hers to stop the scratching. “I know things have been… well, not good. And it’s been not good for a while now. And I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t think we can.” 

“So,” (Y/N) started. “What happened? Did we… Did I…?” 

“No, no, not at all. We had nothing to do with whatever Mom and Dad’s problem is. None of what’s happened or will happen is our fault, alright? And you can never let yourself think that. Look.” Grace kneeled down, looking up at (Y/N). “Things are probably going to be pretty tense for awhile. Maybe they will get divorced, and maybe that’ll be a good thing. But I need you to know, without a doubt, we’ll do this together, okay? I’m always going to be here for you. No one else matters as long as I have you and you have me.”

“What about college? You got accepted already.” 

Grace grimace. “Yeah, well, if I got accepted once I can do it again, right?” She held up her pinkie finger. “So, together, yeah?” 

(Y/N) smiled back, linking her pinkie with Grace’s. “Yeah.” 

Grace stood up with a jump. “Great! Now, come on, what are we doing out here? There’s a party inside!” 

The sisters linked around and wandered inside. The main floor had been cleared of hay and dirt with a sparkly disco ball slowly rotating above it. Music blasted from hidden speakers in the rafters. Someone had tied glazed donuts to strings, hanging them from one of the rafters for people to jump and bite, like an arial version of bobbing for apples. A table was set up for beer pong to a far end. Grace could see legs dangling down from the hayloft. A few people were playing twister or a weird version of Texas hold ‘em. On the other side, there was a snack table piled high with about 50 boxes of Little Debbies, popcorn, at least 6 different kinds of soda, pizza in about every topping she could think of off the top of her head, garlic rolls, brownies and blondies, and a huge bowl of sour gummy worms. 

“Gracie!” One of her friends called out. Her friends who she had ridden with had congregated with a few others. She blushed when she noticed Emily purposefully nudging Zachary, her crush of about seven years, and pointing over to her. 

“You can go talk to them if you want,” (Y/N) said. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

“And I don’t want to be a hanger-on.” (Y/N) shrugged. “You’re cool, but who else would be okay with their little sister at a secret senior party?” 

Grace looked around. “Only if you’re sure.” 

(Y/N) gently shoved Grace in the direction of her friends. “Haven’t you been wanting to kiss that guy since forever? Go be gross, or whatever.” 

Grace laughed. “It is not gross!” Stopping, she turned back around and gave (Y/N) a big hug. “Don’t drink anything you didn’t open yourself!” She called over her shoulder. 

(Y/N) waved meekly after her. If she was honest, she would tell Grace how much she didn’t want to be here, trapped in this increasingly claustrophobic barn, surrounded by older teens who she didn’t know and probably wanted nothing to do with her, the insenant noise coming from all sides mixed with the sent of cheap beer, cigarette smoke, and something less than legal. 

Her nerves had been frayed for a while, to the point where it felt like things had always been this way. Why did she always feel so tense? Why was she always so wound up? Why did her senses overload so easily? 

She started scratching at her wrist over her sleeve. That had been another bad habit she’d picked up. She couldn’t remember exactly when it had started, when she had started scratching so earnestly at that spot until the skin became red then peeled like a bad sunburn and finally oozed blood. Half the time she didn’t even realize she was doing it until she looked at her hand and found the underside of her nails clogged with blood. 

She knew what Grace was trying to do. That promise was sweet, but (Y/N) had no intention of holding her to it. But making (Y/N) feel better made Grace feel better, so (Y/N) would do what she had to. Except let Grace stay around after graduation, no matter what she said or who she was trying to protect. (Y/N) had seen the college acceptance letter. She’d been working on her portfolio for the Rhode Island School of Design for months, had checked the mailbox at least once an hour since she sent her application in. It had been everything Grace had ever wanted, her first step to the life she always planned for, the best way to get away from all of… this. Grace had been keeping it a secret, and (Y/N) couldn’t understand why until tonight. 

Why did everything feel so heavy? Why did the air feel like water? Why did her skin feel like it wanted to jump off her body? 

A flutter of color caught her attention. Looking up, (Y/N) saw an out of season ladybug flutter in confused circles. It jittered aimlessly until landing on the hand of a person standing near the barn doors. He looked a little older than the seniors and (Y/N) didn’t recognize him. Maybe he was an older brother who had been roped into being the designated driver? But that didn’t make much sense as he loosely held a bottle of beer in his hand. He looked down at the ladybug and scowled, raising his other hand to squash it. 

“Don’t!” (Y/N) squeaked. His head shot up, eyes drilling into her like she had just started laughing at a funeral. “They’re, uh, they’re good luck, you know? Ladybugs. It’s supposed to be good luck in one lands on you.” 

He blinked, his face transforming from those disgusted piercing eyes to a moment of confusion to warm and welcoming, a good friend you haven’t seen in a long time.  
“Really?” He purred. (Y/N) had never heard someone purr a word before, but that was the only way she could describe the sound. She felt her heart thump a little faster. His movement disturbed the ladybug and it flitted away. Lazily, it circled back around and landed on (Y/N)’s check, its tiny legs tickling her face. 

“Well, look at that,” He purred again. He was right next to her, leaning down and examining the tiny insect on her face. When had he moved? How did he get so close? (Why couldn’t she feel his breath on her face?) “Looks like we’re both lucky. Or maybe this is a sign, hmm? Divine intervention from the universe connecting us two lucky people together. Or maybe,” He tilted her chin up so she had to look straight into his cold pale blue eyes. Even though he kept his grip loose, (Y/N) felt like he had an iron grip on her. “Maybe this means that you’re my good luck charm, eh, Ladybug?” 

She chuckled nervously, trying to think of a polite way to escape. The ladybug flew off again. He watched it retreat while keeping his hold on her chin. 

“What’s your name, Ladybug?” 

“I-It’s (Y/N). I’m Grace’s little sister.” 

His eyes locked back onto hers. She swore she could feel them drilling right down to her soul, pulling forth every secret and horrible aspect of herself into the harsh and unforgiving light. 

“(Y/N). (Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N),” He rolled the name around, closing his eyes to get a better feel of it. “Hmm. I think that will do fine. It’s wonderful to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Alexi.” 

 

Now 

“So are we just not going to talk about this?” Steve said, breaking the already hesitant quiet of breakfast. 

“Talk about what, Cap?” Tony asked sipping his fourth cup of coffee that morning. 

Steve glared at Tony. “You know exactly what.” 

Tony looked up and tapped his chin, fake thinking. “Is this about the usernames I set for Jarvis? Because I can’t change them now. Sorry, spangles.” 

“Steve does have a point,” Natasha added. “You didn’t mention this to any of us until it was already done. I, for one, like to know what a potential serial killer will be under the same roof as me.” 

“She’s not-” 

“You can’t believe every girl who batts her eyes and has a sob story, Tony,” Steve cut him off. “We don’t know who she is, who she’s involved with, or if we can believe anything she tells us. SHIELD agreed to let her out to help analyze the Hydra experiments, but for all we know this could be exactly her plan. What if she’s infiltrating our systems to clue Hydra in to SHIELD’s new structure then setting a bomb to destroy the tower in the middle of the night?” 

“And what if Elsa over there is still really under Hydra control and is slowly poisoning us all?” Tony snapped back. He looked over at Bucky who was pouring batter into the waffle iron. “Sorry.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Point taken.” 

“And besides,” Tony said, jabbing at a tablet then sliding it across the table to Steve. “We do know exactly who she is.” 

Skeptical, Steve picked up the tablet and push a display button. The screen of the tablet projected itself in a square hologram above the table so that all the assembled Avengers could see it. 

Bruce read aloud, “56 Dead in Unsolved Barn Massacre. Police Continue Search for Missing Student.” 

“Police are continuing their investigation regarding the mass murder of almost the entire senior class at Mont Blanc High School in Goldfinch, Ohio. The deceased consist of 48 seniors, 5 juniors, and 3 graduates. Their bodies were found on an abandoned farming property by a group of young boys who were riding their bikes in the area. The boys claimed to have seen a large flock of crows circling the barn on the property and investigated.  
“While all of the deceased have been accounted for, there is still an attendant of the party who is reported missing. Hannah Hershaw, a senior who was at the party but left early, reported that another student, Grace (L/N), had brought her younger sister, (Y/N) (L/N). (Y/N) is not listed among the deceased. While neither Hershaw or (L/N) are suspects, the police are extremely interested in speaking with (L/N). Currently, investigators are working on the theory that she might have been kidnapped by the perpetrators, although the exact purpose is still unknown.” 

The article went on but Bruce stopped reading, stepping away. A few pictures accompanied the article. There was a black and white photo of the barn in daylight. The large doors had been opened. A hand lay falled just outside, the body covered by the door. A large splash of something could be seen on the interior of the other door. The second picture was of two teenage girls, smiling in a selfie, arms thrown across each others shoulders and hugging in tight. The caption below read, “The deceased, Grace (L/N), right, and sister, (Y/N) (L/N), left. If anyone has information on (Y/N)’s whereabouts, please call the anonymous tip line.” 

Steve swiped through similar articles Tony had brought up on the tablet. The covered the murders at different time points, some focusing on the students, some creating a hypothesis as to how it was carried out, some shouting motives ranging from cult activity to mass suicide to serial killer. 

Steve pressed a button to close the hologram. Bucky picked up the tablet and kept reading through the articles. 

“This doesn't prove anything concrete,” Steve said. 

“‘Concrete’?” Tony repeated. “I’ll tell you what’s concrete: There’s a girl a few floors above us who had to watch while her sister and more than 50 other kids were murdered. She had things done to her, to turn her into something else, that she didn’t want. Is she dangerous? Yes, of course she is. But so is pretty much every dog. That doesn't mean we’re going to go around muzzling every golden retriever. What’s concrete here, Steve, is that there’s a kid who’s terrified of what she can do, of what she’s seen, and of what’s happening around her without any of her control. She knows damn well what could happen in SHIELD suddenly decides she’s stepped out of line. So you’ll just have to forgive me if I think someone who doesn't want to do any harm should be given a little slack and not have a rifle pointed to their head 24/7.” Tony snatched his coffee cup and stormed out of the room. 

“He’s right, you know,” Bucky spoke up. “If you read these reports-”

“The news can be wrong, Bucky,” Steve said. “Or they may not know everything. No one knows for sure how all of those kids died.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe I know what it’s like to have everyone think you’re a killing machine when all you want to do is help.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Buck.” 

“I know what you meant.” Bucky gave Steve a half-hearted smile and clapped his shoulder before heading out. Steve collapsed back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

~~~~

It was about a week before (Y/N) decided to leave her room. She and Peter had texted a few times, mostly him sending her funny memes that he thought would cheer her up. She appreciated it, but she was beginning to feel like one of those tigers in a zoo that always placed in front of the cage. She waited till it was late, when most normal people would be fast asleep. Of course, she thought, it’s not like the Avengers were normal people. 

“Jarvis?” (Y/N) asked to the air. “What floor has the most windows?” 

“The communal floors tend to have the best view of the city.” 

“Is anyone there right now?” 

“Not at the moment.” 

“Do you think I could, like, go down there for a while?” 

“Of course. Mr. Stark has granted you access to the majority of the tower.” 

(Y/N) snuck out to the elevator as if she was in a James Bond movie, peeking around every corner before taking the next step. The elevator didn’t have any music in it, so it slowly ascended in complete silence as she watched the floors tick by. 

The floor Jarvis dropped her off in had an open ceiling to the next three floors above it, connecting them all into basically one giant living room. All of the outer walls were glass giving that promised view of New York at night. There was a bar and kitchenette on one side, with the main attraction being a giant flat screen TV in front of a circle of couches.  
(Y/N) stepped close to the windows, arms wrapped around herself, and looked out at the still bustling nightlife. Everything blinking and shining, she could swear she could still hear the blare of car horns from all the way up here. A streak of movement caught her eye high up in the sky scrappers. Grinning, she took out her phone and snapped a quick picture before sending a text. 

Me: Found you. (picture attached)  
Peter, by the way: :D  
Peter, by the way: Come out to the balcony. 

Sure enough, a pair of invisible sliding doors opened onto a wide veranda. There was a grill and picnic table under a large umbrella and a large infinity pool with two hot tubs on either side. 

(Y/N) rolled up the edge of her jeans, one of the many new pairs that had been included in her new room, and dipped her feet in, watching the ripples. A few minutes later, (Y/N) heard a whoosh of air as Spider-Man web-slung his way up the tower, landing on the safety rail surrounding it. (Y/N) liked the way the eyes of his mask could grow and shrink, helping convey his emotions. She thought it was cute how expressie he could be even when his whole face of covered. 

“I thought you were a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” She said. “This is a little far from the neighborhood, isn’t it?” 

He shrugged, sitting down next to her cross-legged. “Hey, it’s a big place, right? I can’t keep myself cooped up in Queens forever. You know all the crazy stuff that goes on in New York. Although, I hear there’s this one guy who has Hell’s Kitchen on lock-down, so that’s cool, I guess.” 

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” (Y/N) recalled from the news clips she had seen while scouring the internet for more information on the Ladybug Murders. “Think there’s any relation to the Demon of San Francisco?” 

“I heard Ant-Man lives out that way,” He said. “Maybe he has an idea.” 

“Do the bug related Avengers talk often? Do you have your own group chat?” 

“Hey!” Peter pretended to be offended. “Spiders aren’t bugs!” She laughed quietly. 

(Y/N) reclined on her back, splaying her arms out and looking at the night sky. “The place I grew up wasn’t a small town,” She said. “But if you drove for a while, like, 20 minutes or so, you could get out to all this farmland and open fields. Sometimes, in the summer, we would drive out there and set off fireworks. One of my friend’s dad had this big pickup truck. We grab a whole mess of blankets and quilts and sit in the back and just watch the stars. You can’t really see any stars here, can you?” 

Peter laid back too, making sure to stay a respectable distance away, and crossed his hands on his chest. “Is that why you went to the observatory?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe.” 

“Do you think about going back? Letting your family know what happened?” 

“Sometimes. They think I’m dead, you know. Or, well, maybe kidnapped, but it’s been so long and the situation before hand wasn’t… good, so. Yeah, they probably think I’m dead. And sometimes I wonder if that’s better. So they can have that memory of what I used to be instead of having to deal with what I am now. Things weren’t great before, either, if I’m being honest. My parents fought a lot. I don’t even know if they’re still together. I think staying away just might be easier for everyone.” 

“You know that old saying, “blood is thicker than water?’”

(Y/N) turned to look at him. Peter had taken off his mask. This close, she could see the different flecks of color in his eyes, the barley there sun-freckles across his checks. “Yeah?”  
“Well, it’s a misquote. It’s supposed to be ‘blood of the bond is thicker than water of the womb.’ It means the bonds you make by choice are stronger than the ones you’re born with. So, maybe,” He turned back to look at the sky. “Maybe now you can make new bonds.” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

He turned and looked at her again. For a moment, neither knew what to say, but it didn’t feel like anything needed to be said. They sat with each other, pointing out the lights from far above planes and helicopters, sometimes speaking of nothing of importance that they wouldn’t remember the next morning. At some point, their hands were right next to each other, pinkies almost touching. Peter looked at (Y/N), who was softly smiling, looking perfectly content for the first time since he met her, gazing skyward. Steadying himself, he lifted his hand ever so slightly, moving it above hers. 

“Look!” She said suddenly, sitting up fast. Peter jerked himself back at the sudden movement, trying to regain his composure quickly so he wouldn’t lose face in front of her. “Right there! Is that a meteor? Can you see them with all this light?” 

Peter looked up. Sure enough, there was a dot of light racing through the sky. It was too far away to be the searchlight of a helicopter and too fast to be an airplane.  
“Huh, I don’t know. I didn’t hear of a meteor shower or anything. It almost looks like it’s coming toward us.” 

“Peter, I think it is!” 

The light stopped its gentle curve in the sky and began to plummet downwards, its trajectory colliding with the veranda. They jumped up, Peter pulled on his mask, and stood back. (Y/N) pressed herself against the glass trying to stay out of the way but curling her hands into fists if the need arose, while Peter brought up his guard and checked his web slingers. 

The light hit the deck with a the sound of all the air being taken from the room. They both had to turn their eyes away from the brightness as it gradually dissipated. The water in the pool surged up and over the side of the veranda. 

“Hello! My friends! I have returned!” 

Peter and (Y/N) looked up to see two men standing on the veranda. Both tall, one with short golden hair, an eye-patch, and a smile that could light a room, the other with long dark hair in a long dark green coat looking like he had just been dragged to a five-year-old's birthday party. 

“Is that-?” (Y/N) started. 

“Thor and Loki?” Peter finished. 

Thor turned to them and smiled. “Hello! I don’t recognize either of you. Are we at the right tower?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, I haven't seen End Game yet because I know I'm going to be sad at the end. D: Can I just have Far From Home now?  
> Hey, I'm on Tumblr! Come say hi! https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/  
> Thank you for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Having some more fun with this whole writing thing. Let me know what you think, I super appreciate the feedback. Thanks for reading!  
> And just in case you read my other fic, Nutcracker, don't worry, I'm not abandoning it. Just writing two things at once to keep my inspiration up.


End file.
